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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  (  AROLINIANA 

ENDOWED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

CLASS  OF  1889 


Jhif^cGj*i:-vi.;&-^2f^d^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N  C   AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00032195446 


This  book  must 
be  taken  from 
Library  building. 


THE  HOME  BOOK  OF  THE  PICTURESQUE. 


51  ® 


^    K. 


^^ 


3  y  ;^ 


9\C'^  ^J'^^^S^  U 


.     H  «  W      r  «1>  IK  K  , 


THE  HOME  BOOK 


PICTURESQUE 


AMERICAN  SCENERY,  ART,  AND  LITERATURE 


,  jii.i, 


OOMPEISING 


/a  series  of  essays  by  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  W.  C.  BRYANT,  FEXIMORE  COOPER,  ) 
(  MISS   COOPER,   KT.  P.   WILLIS,  BAYARD   TAYLOR,    H.  T.  TUCKERILAN,  / 

V  E.  L.  MAGOON,  DK.  BETHUNE,  A.  B.  STREET,  MISS  FIELD,  ETC.  / 

WITH  THIRTEEN  ENGEAVINGS  ON  STEEL, 

FROM  PICTURES  BY  EJIISEiNT  ARTISTS, 

ENGKAVED     EXPRESSLY     FOK     THIS     WOKK. 


NEW-YOEK: 
G.    P.    PUTNAM,    15  5    BROADWAY. 

MDCCCLTT. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

G.    P.    PUTNAM, 

In  tlie  Clerk's  Office  of  tlie  Distiiot  Court  for  tlie  Southern  District  of  New-York. 


.lOMX    F.  Ti:nw,    riilNTKI!, 
40  Ann. street. 


A.    B.    DURAND, 

PRESIDENT   OF   THE   NATIONAL   ACADEMY   OF   THE   FINE    ARTS, 

THIS    WORK, 

INTENDED    AS   AN    INITIATORY    SUGGESTION    FOR   POPULARIZING    SOME   OF   THE    CHARACTERISTICS 

OF 

3mfnniii  Xnnlisrnjre  m\  ^mmm  5lrt, 

IS,     BY     PERMISSION, 

EESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED, 

BY  THE  PIJBLLSHER. 


rUJ5LlSIlER'S    NOTICE 


That  American  artists  have  ample  scope  for  the  development  of 
genius,  in  the  department  of  landscajje  painting,  is  a  truism  too  self- 
evident  to  need  any  argumentative  dissertations.  A  very  laudable 
degree  of  success  in  the  cultivation  of  this  genius,  is  also  e\ddent 
in  many  of  our  private  drawing-rooms,  as  well  as  public  exhibitions. 

Believing  that  ample  material  thus  exists  for  illustrating  the 
picturesque  beauties  of  American  landscape,  the  publisher  has  ven- 
tui'ed  to  undertake  this  volume  as  an  experiment,  to  ascertain  how 
far  the  taste  of  our  people  may  warrant  the  production  of  home- 
manufactured  presentation-books,  and  how  far  we  can  successfully 
compete  with  those  fi-om  abroad.  In  the  higher  range  of  orna- 
mental books  of  this  class,  such  as  are  sought  for  by  our  liljei-al, 
gift-giving  people,  we  have  heretofore  depended  ahnost  exclusively 
upon  our  importations  from  Em'ope. 

It  is  not  to  he  pretended  that  this  volume,  even  in  its  depart- 
ment, has  reached  the  highest  degree  of  excellence.  The  engravings 
are  perhaps  of  too  moderate  size  to  do  anything  like  justice  to  the 
original   pictm^es,  and  they  are  doubtless  still  capable  of  improve- 


8  PUBLISHERS      NOTICE. 

iiient,  although   it   will    )>e   conceded   that   the   engravers  have   done 
their  part  with  taste  and  skill. 

AVhether  the  volume  shows  any  jn'ogress,  however,  in  American 
book-making,  must  be  left  to  the  public  decision.  K  that  tribunal 
affords  the  needful  encouragement,  this  may  be  followed  by  futm-e 
volumes  of  similar  import,  but  more  worthy  of  the  artists  and  of 
the  country. 

The  publisher  begs  leave  to  return  his  acknowledgments  to  those 
Avho  have  so  kindly  aided  him  in  making  this  experiment — particu- 
larly to  Mr.  Durand,  the  distinguished  president  of  the  Academy, 
and  to  Messrs.  Huntington,  Church,  Kensett,  Weir,  Talbot,  Cropsey, 
and  Richards,  all  of  whom  have  won  so  much  distinction  as  land- 
scape painters.  To  the  gentlemen  who  have  kindly  loaned  pictures 
for  engraving,  the  publisher  is  under  special  obligation,  particularly 
to  Cyrus  W.  Field,  Esq.,  for  Mi".  Church's  charming  pictm-e  of  West 
Rock  ;  to  General  J.  A.  Dix,  for  that  of  Rondout,  Ijy  Huntington  ; 
to  Mrs.  Cole,  for  the  picture  of  Schroon  Lake,  by  her  late  husband ; 
to  Mr.  C.  H.  Rogers  for  Mr.  Talbot's  "Juniata,"  and  to  Mr.  J.  W. 
Whitefield  for  the  same  artist's  "Cascade  Bridge." 

It  is  superfluous  to  refer  to  the  eminent  writers  who  have  zealously 
contributed  to  the  substantial  value  of  the  volume  by  their  able 
essays.     The  reader  can  appreciate  them  without  note  or  comment. 

The  publisher  would  merely  allude  to  the  self-evident  fact,  that 
this  volume  does  not  claim  to  rejjresent  the  American  landscape 
painters  in  any  thing  like  proper  proportion.  It  was  only  practi- 
cable to  give  in  this  such  specimens  as  were  accessible,  of  only  a 
small  pi'oportion  of  those  artists  who  would  worthily  adorn  such  a 
book.  If  wc  arc  permitted  to  proceed  with  another  volume,  a  dozen 
or  two  more  names  will  at  once  occur  to  the  reader  as  quite  essen- 
tial for  such  a  j^urpose. 

G.  P.  P. 


CONTENTS. 


DEDICATION, 

PUBLISHER'S  KOTICE, 

SCENERY  AND  MIND,  ..... 

VIEW  NEAR  RONDOUT, 

AMERICAN  AND  EUROPEAN  SCENERY  COMPARED, 
THE  CATSKILL  MOUNTAINS,  .... 

A  DISSOLVING  VIEW, 

THE  SCENERY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA, 

THE  HIGHLAND  TERRACE,  ABOVE  WEST  POINT, 

WA-WA-YAN-DAH  LAKE,  NEW  JERSEY, 

OVER  THE  MOUNTxilNS,  OR  THE  WESTERN  PIONEER, 

WEST  ROCK,  NEW  HAVEN,         .... 

THE  ERIE  RAILROAD,  ..... 

THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS,  WEST  POINT, 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  HOUSATONIC, 

THE  ADIRONDACK  MOUNTAINS, 

SCHROON  LAKE,  ^.  .  . 

ART  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES, 


E.  L.  Magoon 

1 

. 

49 

J.  FENnMOKE  Cooper 

51 

WASniNOTON  Ikvino 

71 

Miss  Cooper 

79 

Batard  Taylor 

65 

N.  P.  Willis 

105 

113 

n.  T.  Tuokerman 

115 

Mart  E.  Field 

137 

Bayard  Taylor 

143 

151 

Wm.  C.  Bryant 

155 

Alfred  B.  Street 

ICl 

lfi5 

G.  W.  Bethtine,  D.  D. 

lf.7 

LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAINTER. 

THE  BAY  OF  NEW-YORK,       .        .        .        .  H.  Beckwitii 

CASCADE  BKIDGE,  ERIE  RAILROAI>,   .        .  J.  Talbot 

THE  RONDOUT, D.  IIuntlxgton 

CATSKILL  SCENERY, J.  F.  Kensett 

CATSKILL,  IN  THE  CLOVE,    .        .        .        .  A.  B.  Dubasd 

THE  JTJNIATTA,  PENN.  ....  J.  Talbot 

WA-WA-YAN-DAH  LAKE J.  F.  Cropsey 

COWETA  CREEK,  NORTH  CAROLINA,  .  T.  A.  Riciluids 

WEST  ROCK,  NEW  IIA\T5N,    .        .        .        .  F.  E.  Ciiurch 
THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  HOLY  INNOCENTS, 

WEST  POINT, R.  W.  Weie 

THE  HOUSATONIC  VALLEY,  .        .        .  R.  Gignoux 

ADIRONDACK  SCENTIRY A.  B.  Dlrand 

SCHROON  LAKE T.  Cole 


engraver. 

page. 

H.  Beckwitii 

Frimtispiece. 

J.   llALl-lN 

TiOe. 

S.  V.  Hunt 

49 

II.  Beckwitii 

71 

H.  Beckwitii 

"iS 

H.  Beck^vitii 

95 

S.  V.  Hunt 

113 

S.  V.  Hunt 

115 

S.  V.  Hunt 

137 

S.  V.  Hunt 

151 

J.  Halpin 

155 

J.   KlUK 

161 

H.  Beckwitii 

165 

SCENERY    AND     MIND. 

BY   E.   L.    MAGOON,    A.  M. 

"  O  my  Native  Land  1 
How  shouldst  thou  prove  aught  else  but  dear  and  holy 
To  me,  who  from  thy  lakes  and  mountain  hills, 
Thy  clouds,  thy  quiet  dales,  thy  rocks  and  seas, 
Have  drunk  in  all  my  intellectual  life, 
All  sweet  sensations,  all  ennobling  thoughts, 
All  adoration  of  the  God  in  nature, 
All  lovely  and  all  honorable  things. 
Whatever  makes  this  mortal  spirit  feel 
The  joy  and  greatness  of  its  future  being  3 
There  lives  nor  form  nor  feeling  in  my  soul 
Unborrowed  from  my  country." 

COLEEIDGE. 

God  made  tlie  human  soul  illustrious,  aud  designed  it  for  exalted 
pursuits  and  a  glorious  destiny.  To  expand  our  finite  faculties,  and 
afford  tliem  a  culture  both  profound  and  elevating,  Nature  is  spread 
around  us,  with  all  its  stupendous  proportions,  and  Revelation  speaks  to 
us  of  an  eternal  augmentation  of  knowledge  hereafter,  for  weal  or  woe. 
1 


J  S  C  E  X  E  K  Y      A  N  D      JI  I  N  D  . 

Above,  Ijc'ueatli,  aud  on  every  side,  open  the  avenues  of  iniinite  pro- 
gression, tbrougli  wliicli  we  are  to  advance  without  pause,  and  expand 
without  limit.  Here,  in  tliis  dim  arena  of  earth,  an  immortal  essence 
thi'obs  at  our  heart  in  harmony  with  the  infinite  and  eternal.  The 
day-star  of  thought  arises  on  the  soul,  and,  with  our  first  rational 
exercise,  begins  an  existence  which  may  experience  many  ■\dcissitudes, 
may  pass  through  many  transitions,  but  can  never  terminate.  The 
soul,  vivified  with  power  to  think,  t\t.11  outlive  the  universe  which  feeds 
its  thought,  and  will  be  still  practising  its  juvenile  excursions  at  the 
mere  outset  of  its  opening  career,  while  suns  and  systems,  shorn  of 
theii'  glories,  shall  sink,  in  shattered  ruins,  to  the  caverns  of  eternal 
obli\don.  The  two  great  capacities,  correspondent  to  the  two  great 
natural  elements  alluded  to  aljove, — the  power  of  perceiAong  the 
beautiful  and  feeling  the  sublime, — are  at  once  the  products  and  proofe 
of  inherent  immortality.  They  indicate  endowments  which  it  is  bliss 
to  improve,  and  a  destiny  which  it  will  be  fearfid  indeed  to  neglect. 

All  sentient  beings  may  have  an  eye  that  can  see,  and  an  ear  that 
can  hear  ;  but  to  be  gifted  with  a  heart  that  can  feel,  constitutes  the 
chief  characteristic  of  a  living  soul.  Animals  are  created  perfect, 
while  mankind  are  made  perfectible  by  \drtue  of  loftier  capacities. 
Instinct  is  compelled  to  pause  over  what  it  dimly  perceives,  but  niiud 
perpetually  quickens  its  vision,  as  well  as  its  speed,  through  the  mag- 
nificent unfoldings  of  its  imbounded  progress.  The  senses  educate  the 
capabilities.  Our  lower  nature  is  first  susceptible  to  impression  ;  and 
from  this  source,  at  a  very  early  j)eri()d,  infiuences  arise  which,  when 
once  stereoty}3etl  upon  the  soul,  are  ineftaceable  forever.  What  is  the 
destiny  of  that  little  stranger,  just  emerged  from  mysterious  night 
iato  life  active  and  eternal  ?  What  is  to  be  the  history  of  that  ghm- 
mering  sjiark,  struck  from  nothiugness  by  the  all-croatiug  rock,  and 
filled   with   a   fulness  of  beina:  that   will    shine    when    the    stars   are 


SCENERY      AND      JIIND.  3 

extinct  ?  Soon  its  faculties  will  unfold  to  external  influences.  As  yet 
its  germs  of  consciousness  lie  smothered  under  the  passive  and  mortal 
powers ;  Ijut  as  these  are  made  the  avenues  of  moral  health  or  disease 
in  early  culture,  that  tremendous  existence  which  lies  before  the 
unconscious  liabe  will  prove  a  blessing  or  a  curse.  In  relation  to 
every  young  denizen  of  earth,  it  is  an  important  reflection,  that  having 
once  felt,  it  retains  that  feeling  ;  the  emotion  of  jJea^ure  it  has  exjje- 
rienced,  thenceforth  belongs  to  itself,  and  will  recur  with  increased 
energy ;  that  the  paiu  it  has  once  known  belongs  to  itself,  and  may 
go  on  deepening  its  pimgency  forever.  Glory  or  iufamy  is  but  a 
difi'ei'ent  direction  of  the  same  capacities.  Soon  from  that  youtliful 
mind  will  come  gleamings  of  thought  and  ebullitions  of  passion,  and 
those  same  eftervescing  endowments  may  form  a  Catiluie  or  a  Cicero. 
The  Xeros  and  Herods,  Newtons  and  Pauls,  the  scourges  of  earth,  and 
its  greatest  benefactors,  were  once  helpless  infants. 

To  our  mind,  this  book  on  American  Scenery  has  an  import  of  the 
highest  order.  The  diversified  landscapes  of  our  country  exert  no 
shght  influence  m  creating  our  character  as  individuals,  and  in  confirm- 
ing our  destiny  as  a  nation.  Oceans,  mountains,  rivers,  cataracts,  wild 
woods,  fragrant  praii'ies,  and  melodious  winds,  are  elements  and  exem- 
plifications of  that  general  harmony  which  subsists  throughout  the 
universe,  and  which  is  most  jwtent  over  the  most  valuable  minds. 
Every  material  oliject  was  designed  for  the  use  and  reward  of  genius,  to 
be  tm-ned  into  an  intelligible  hieroglyphic,  and  the  memento  of  purest 
love.  How  strong  this  early  influence  and  affection  may  become,  it  is 
difficult  to  say.  Hills,  valleys,  brooks,  trees  —  om-  first  and  fondest 
friends  bey(md  the  domestic  hearth  —  are  never  forgotten.  Memory 
recalls  the  sunny  days  of  childhood  and  youth  ;  and,  like  the  green 
spot  in  the  desert,  in  M-hich  the  weary  traveller  lingers  with  delight, 
his  tods  and  piivations  half  forgotten,  we  love  to  ramble  again  amidst 


4  SCENERY     AND      MIND. 

tlie  scenes  of  earliest  emotion  and  purest  tliouglit,  rejoicing  still  that, 
wherever  exiled, 

"  Trees,  and  flowere,  and  brooks, 
AYhich  do  remember  me  of  wliere  I  dwelt. 
Ere  my  young  mind  was  sacrificed  to  books, 
Come  as  of  yore  upon  me,  and  can  melt 

My  heart  witli  recognition  of  tlieir  looks." 

We  proceed  to  show  that,  iu  the  physical  universe,  what  is  most 
abundant,  is  most  ennobling ;  what  is  most  exalted,  is  most  influential 
on  the  Lest  minds  ;  and  that,  for  these  reasons,  national  intellect 
receives  a  prevailing  tone  from  the  pecidiar  scenery  that  most 
abounds. 

First,  in  the  kingdoms  of  matter  around  us,  what  is  most  aljundant 
in  amount,  is  most  enuoljliug  in  use.  The  mighty  magician,  Nature, 
produces  the  greatest  variety  of  striking  eifects  -^-ith  the  fewest  means. 
There  are  only  a  sun,  soil,  rocks,  trees,  flowers,  water,  and  an  obser-sdng 
soul.  Every  thing  in  use  depends  upon  this  last,  whether  to  the  con- 
templator  "  love  lends  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye."  Deep  in  the 
concave  of  heaven  is  the  luminary  revealing  all ;  and  deep  in  the  soul 
of  the  illumined  is  a  chord  tenderly  vibrating  to  the  charms  of  all. 
The  voices  of  every  order  of  moving  things,  the  silvery  tones  of  flow- 
ing streams,  the  trembhng  tongues  of  leaves,  the  inarticulate  melody 
of  flowers,  the  \dbrations  of  mighty  hUls,  and  the  dread  music  of  the 
spheres,  all  sublunary  blending  with  all  celestial  notes,  are  not  for  a 
moment  lost  to  the  heart  that  listens.  The  harp  of  Memuon  is  not 
falndous,  properly  interpreted.  The  devout  lover  of  nature,  seated  on 
the  mountain,  or  l)y  the  ocean,  bathed  in  the  golden  sheen  of  02:)ening 
day,  will  have  his  soul  often  stirred  T)y  melody  divine  as  ever  resound- 
ed from  the  mysterious  haiiuonicon  by  tlie  waters  of  the  Nile. 


SCENERY     AND      MIND. 


Every  rational  iuliabitant  of  earth  is  a  focal  point  in  tlie  universe, 
a  profoundly  deep  centre  around  whicli  every  thing  Leautiful  and 
sublime  is  arranged,  and  towards  which,  through  the  exercise  of  admi- 
ration, every  refining  mfluence  is  drawn.  Wonderful,  indeed,  is  the 
radiant  thread  that  runs  through  every  realm  of  outward  creation,  and 
enhuks  all  their  diversified  influences  ^v4th  the  innermost  fibres  of  the 
soul.  This  is  the  vital  nerve  by  vii-tue  of  which  the  mdividual  is 
related  to  the  universe,  and  the  universe  is  equally  related  to  the  mdi- 
vidual. Through  this,  all  physical  powers  combine  to  relieve  spii-itual 
wants.  Earth  contributes  her  fulness  of  wealth  and  majesty;  aii* 
ministers  in  all  the  Protean  aspects  of  beauty  and  subhmity  ;  fire, 
permeating  every  thing  graceful  and  fair,  gleams  before  the  scrutinizing 
eye  with  a  light  more  vivid  than  the  lightning's  blaze;  and  water  is 
not  only  "  queen  of  a  thousand  rills  that  fall  in  silver  from  the  dewy 
stone,"  diffusing  a  "  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath "  from  the  most 
sylvan  haunts  of  man  to  hLs  most  crowded  home,  but  from  continent 
to  contment  "pours  the  deep,  eternal  bass  m  natm-e's  anthem,  makmg 
music  such  as  charms  the  ear  of  God." 

In  this  abundance  there  is  an  infinite  variety,  adapted  to  every 
grade  of  intellect,  and  every  condition  in  life.  The  book  of  nature, 
which  is  the  art  of  God,  as  Revelation  is  the  word  of  his  divmity, 
unfolds  its  innumerable  leaves,  all  Uluminated  with  glorious  imagery, 
to  the  vision  of  his  creature,  man,  and  is  designed  to  elevate  or  soothe 
him  by  such  influences  as  emanate  from  foaming  cataracts,  glassy  lakes, 
and  floating  mists.  For  this  beneficent  purpose,  fields  bloom,  forests 
wave,  mountains  soar,  caverns  open  then-  jewelled  mines,  constellations 
sparkle,  clouds  spread  then-  variegated  di'apery,  the  sun  radiates  from 
horizon  to  zenith,  and  billows  roll  from  pole  to  pole.  In  spring,  aU  is 
vivacious  with  an  overflowing  ne^\Tiess  of  hfe ;  in  summer,  gorgeous  is 
the  woiid  to  every  eye  ;    autumn  mellows  at  once  the  landscape  vnth. 


6  SCENERYANDJIIND. 

its  bar\ests,  and  tlie  lieai-ts  tLat  love  every  form  of  matured  and  pro- 
liiic  Mortli  ;  even  winter,  deserted  as  may  be  lier  temple  of  the 
thouglitless  and  vain,  suggests,  tlirougli  lioar-frost  and  withered  leaves, 
lessons  of  greatest  value  to  votaries  wLo  evermore  aspire  to  be  truly 
wise. 

Sir  Josliua  EejTiolds  lias  said  that  "  Nature  denies  her  instructions 
to  none  who  desire  to  become  her  jDupils;"  but  a  great  deal  de2")euds 
upon  the  motives  with  which  we  enter  her  school.  It  ^dll  be  to  a  low 
pui'])ose,  surely,  if  our  investigations  are  conducted  in  a  predominantly 
utilitai'ian  spirit,  recognizing  in  the  laws  according  to  which  the 
Di\dnity  works  merely  the  handmaids  to  sensual  indulgence,  rather 
than  the  instruments  of  the  noblest  use.  It  is  thus  that  nature  is 
made  to  present  herself  to  gross  minds,  not  as  a  cpiet  and  awful  tem- 
ple, but  as  a  plenteous  kitchen,  or  voluptuous  banqueting-hall.  By 
this  we  do  not  mean  that  the  sentiments  which  elevate  are  ever  unnar 
tural.  Nature  is  most  truly  herself  when  she  stands  revealed  to  her 
votary  in  the  most  refined  and  suggestive  form.  The  Apollo  Belvidere 
is  indescribably  more  natural  than  any  rustic  of  Teniers,  or  any  alle- 
gorical figure  of  Rubens.  The  master-scenes  of  nature,  however,  like 
the  masterpieces  of  transcendent  art,  require  for  the  inexperienced, 
yet  earnest  admirer,  an  interpreter  ;  to  the  lukewarm  and  careless 
they  are  ever  partially,  if  not  com})letely,  incomjirehensilde.  Like 
certain  delicate  plants,  then-  essential  beauties  shrink  under  rough 
handling,  and  become  dimness  to  the  profanity  of  a  casual  glance; 
they  imveil  themselves  most  fully  to  the  enraptured,  and  ])Our  the 
efiulgence  of  their  splendid  mysteiies  hito  the  fixed  eye  of  him  only 
who  gazes  on  the  charms  he  has  stutliously  sought,  and  adores  foi" 
thvir  own  dear  sake.  Tlius  em])loye(l,  the  most  copious  productions 
of  (Jod  exert  the  most  eiiiinliling  iiiHucncc  Tlicy  (luirkcn  thought 
and  inspire  Iniinility,  thus  verifying  the  exjierience  of  the  poet : 


S  C  E  N  E  R  Y      A  N  D       M  I  N  1) .  7 

"  I  moved  on 
In  low  and  lantjuid  mood  :    tor  I  had  t'ouiid 
That  outward  forms,  tlie  loftiest,  still  receive 
Their  finer  influence  fi'om  the  Lite  -within." 

Ill  viewing  magnificent  scenes,  tlie  soul,  ex]5anded  and  suljlimed,  is 
imbued  with  a  spirit  of  divinity,  and  appears,  as  it  w^ere,  associated 
with  the  Deity  himself.  For,  as  the  shepherd  feels  himself  ennobled, 
■while  communing  with  his  sovereign,  the  beholder,  in  a  far  nobler 
degree,  feels  himself  advanced  to  a  higher  scale  in  the  creation,  in 
being  permitted  to  see  and  admire  the  grandest  of  nature's  w^orks. 
All  vigorous  souls  prize  most  highly  that  healthy  and  expansive  exer- 
cise of  mind  which  is  attained  chiefly  by  traversing  rugged  paths  and 
scaling  celestial  heights,  in  order  to  breathe  pure  and  bracing  air.  To 
the  query  whether  beneficial  effects  actually  attend  such  excursions, 
let  Sydney  Smith  reply  :  "  I,  for  one,  strongly  believe  iu  the  aflirma- 
tive  of  the  question, —  that  Nature  speaks  to  the  miud  of  man  imme- 
diately in  beautiful  and  sul^lime  language ;  that  she  astonishes  him 
with  magnitude,  appals  him  with  darkness,  cheers  him  with  splendor, 
soothes  him  M'ith  harmony,  captivates  him  with  emotion,  enchants  him 
with  fame  ;  she  never  intended  man  should  Avalk  among  her  flowers, 
and  her  fields,  and  her  streams,  unmoved  ;  nor  did  she  rear  the 
strength  of  the  hills  in  vain,  or  mean  that  we  should  look  with  a 
stupid  heart  on  the  wild  glory  of  the  torrent,  bursting  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  forest,  and  dashing  over  the  cruml)ling  rock.  I  would  as 
soon  deny  hardness,  or  softness,  or  figm'e,  to  be  quahties  of  matter,  as 
I  would  deny  beauty  or  sublimity  to  belong  to  its  qualities." 

Mind  is  itself  the  strongest  agency  over  mind  ;  and  next  to  this, 
in  dignity  and  worth,  is  the  jjotency  of  such  inanimate  productions  as 
are  pleasing  iu  their  aspect,  or  awe-inspiring  in  theii'  form.      This  is 


SCENERY     AND      JIIND. 


iiu  inilueuce  A\Licli  effectively  appeals  to  the  sjjirits  of  our  I'ace  iu 
every  condition  of  life.  Wlierever  the  faintest  ray  of  intelligence  has 
da^^Tied,  thither  does  it  come,  and  there  with  ever  increasiug  dominion 
dwell.  The  savage  is  not  too  rude,  nor  the  child  too  infantile,  to  be 
either  refined  or  fortified  by  its  lessons.  Nature  is  an  element  which 
cannot  be  excluded,  and  which  ought  to  lie  so  dii-ected  as  to  produce 
the  most  agreeable  and  beneficent  results.  True,  venerable  mountains 
and  verdant  plains,  with  all  their  terrors  and  all  their  glories,  are  but 
pictures  to  the  blind  and  music  to  the  deaf,  when  a  perceiving  eye  and 
appreciating  soul  are  wanting.  But  with  these  endowments  in  exer- 
cise, however  dim,  dwellers  in  the  midst  of  bold  sceneiy  are  harder 
workers,  greater  readers,  and  better  thinkers,  than  persons  of  equal 
rank  elsewhere.  Thi-ough  the  serene  medium  of  their  lofty  elevation, 
they  are  less  impressed  by  the  pettiness  of  man  and  his  affairs,  than 
by  the  graceful  magnitude  of  what  the  Almighty  has  spread  through 
infinite  fields  around.  Li^dng  with  supreme  delight  far  above  a  Lilh- 
putian  standard,  the  mind  swells  into  something  of  the  colossal  gran- 
deur it  admires.  A  majestic  landscape,  often  scanned  and  truly  loved, 
imparts  much  of  its  greatness  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  spectator ; 
so  that  while  the  species  may  dwindle  in  relative  worth,  the  individual 
is  ennobled  by  the  expansion  he  has  received.  Even  a  transient  visit 
to  localities  strongly  characterized  hj  what  is  intrinsically  elegant  or 
grand,  leaves  the  noblest  impression  on  susceptible  souls.  Charles 
Lamb  relates,  with  his  accustomed  happy  style,  that  on  returning  to 
hLs  desk  at  the  India  House,  after  a  brief  sojourn  amidst  the  Hills  and 
Lakes  of  Westmoreland,  he  thought  much  less  highly  of  himself  than 
while  invested  with  the  mingled  beauty  and  majesty  of  magnificent 
mountain  scenery.  Well  might  his  lo\-ing  school-fellow  and  great 
bi'otlier  in  devotion  to  Nature's  charms,  Coleridge,  say,  in  addressing 
his  little  child  : 


SCENERY     AND      MIND.  V 

"  I  was  rcar'd 
III  the  a^i'eat  city,  pent  'iniJ  cloistei-s  dim, 
And  saw  naught  lovely  but  the  sky  aud  stai-s. 
But  thou,  my  babe,  shalt  wander  like  a  breeze 
By  lakes  and  sandy  shores,  beneath  the  crags 
Of  ancient  mountain,  and  beneath  the  clouds. 
Which  image  in  theii-  bulk  both  lakes  and  shores 
And  mountain  crags  :   so  shalt  thou  see  and  hear 
The  lovely  shapes  and  sounds  intelligible 
Of  that  eternal  language,  wliicli  thy  God 
Utters,  who  from  eternity  doth  teach 
Hunself  in  all,  and  all  things  in  himself : 
Great  universal  teacher  !   He  shall  moidd 
Thy  spirit,  and  by  giving  make  it  ask." 

Thus  far  oitr  first  point,  namely,  that,  in  the  outward  creation, 
whatever  is  most  abimdant  is  most  enuoljhug  in  its  influence  on  om- 
inner  faculties.  In  the  second  place,  we  proceed  to  show,  that  the 
noblest  aspects  and  energies  of  nature  have  the  finest  aud  fii-mest  con- 
trol over  the  best  minds. 

All  eminent  geniuses  are  close  observers  of  rural  objects,  aud 
enthusiastic  admirers  of  imposing  scenery.  There  can  be  no  approxi- 
mation towards  universal  development,  save  as  one  lays  the  entu'e 
universe  under  contribution  to  his  personal  cultivation.  He  must 
absorb  into  his  expanded  soul  resources  fi'om  every  kingdom  com- 
petent to  render  him  a  sovereign  indeed  over  the  realms  of  emo- 
tion aud  thought.  He  that  would  fortify  a  giant  arm  to  sever  an 
isthmus  or  tunnel  mountains,  as  a  pathway  for  the  nations,  or  wield  a 
giant  mind  that  can  quicken  and  mould  the  sentiments  of  other  men 
gigantic  like  himself,  must  habitually  feed  on  that  aliment  which  is 
won  in  stray  gifts  l)y  whosoever  will  find,  and  which,  when  attained, 
constitutes  "  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar'd  sweets  where  no  crude  surfeit 


10  S  C  E  X  E  E  Y      A  X  D       MIND. 

reigns."  The  pul)lic  man  whose  spliere  is  most  comprelieiisive,  and 
"whose  exhausting  toils  are  most  distracting,  Avill  probaljly  l)e  indeT)ted 
to  youtliful  and  sereuer  avocations  in  huniljler  scenes  for  his  sweetest 
solace  and  most  endui'mg  strength.  The  exjjeiience  and  sagacity  of  a 
gi-eat  philosopher  justify  this  assertion :  "  I  speak,  sii",  of  those  who, 
though  bred  up  vmder  our  unfavorable  system  of  education,  have  yet 
held,  at  times,  some  intercom-se  with  Nature,  and  with  those  great 
minds  whose  works  have  been  moulded  by  the  spiiit  of  Nature  :  who, 
therefore,  when  they  pass  from  the  seclusion  and  constraint  of  early 
study,  bring  with  them,  into  the  new  scene  of  the  world,  much  of  the 
pure  sensibility  which  is  the  spring  of  all  that  is  greatly  good  in 
thought  and  action." 

All  great  passions  are  fed,  and  all  great  systems  are  projected  in 
solitude.  Wide  and  dense  masses  of  mankind  form  the  ap2:)roiiriate 
field  whereon  superior  talents  are  to  be  exercised ;  but,  to  the  aspir- 
ing, the  distraction  and  attrition  of  large  cities  are  rather  e\'iLs  to  be 
shunned,  since  they  vitiate  if  not  destroy  that  purity  and  calm  which 
are  essential  to  the  best  growth  of  mind.  The  predestined  hero  in 
moral  warfare  will  avoid  the  broad  and  boisterous  way,  if  he  l)e  -nise  ; 
and,  like  the  Pythagoreans  of  old,  he  will  betake  himself  to  some 
sequestered  spot,  there  alone  to  mature  the  vigor  of  his  thoughts.  If 
he  would  elicit  a  train  of  sentiments  the  profoundest  and  best,  let  him 
wander  through  the  shady  walks  and  silent  groves  of  the  country, 
where  all  things  tend  to  arm  and  elevate  the  soul.  The  song  of  bu-ds 
and  hum  of  bees  will  not  profitless  fall  on  his  ear.  Fields  enamelled 
with  verdure,  and  trees  clothed  in  garments  almost  di\'ine,  the  stillness 
of  nature  in  her  secret  glens,  and  the  awful  import  of  her  more  vocal 
majesty,  must  recall  the  universal  Creator  in  modes  the  most  palpable 
to  a  meditative  inipil  in  this  university  for  all  designed,  and  at  the 
same  time  will  most  imlmc  liini  with  tlic  immense  repose  witli  which 


SCENERY     AKD      iM  I N  D .  11 

creation  is  croMTied.  Forms  of  glory  lioveriug  over  forest  and  field, 
on  tlie  river's  bank,  the  lake's  brini,  ocean's  strand,  or  around  moun- 
tain-peaks, create  glorious  forms  in  admii-ing  souls.  They  confer  an 
inspii-ation  which  kindles  afresh  over  each  new  object  worthy  of 
esteem,  and  forever  keep  burning  on  the  altar  of  the  heart  a  flame 
which  infinitude  perpetually  draws  near  Ixith  to  purify  and  feed.  It 
is  om-  bliss  to  cherish  those  early  recollections,  without  which  all 
others  are  nuU  and  void,  and  which  should  be  wedded  to  memory 
forever. 

•'  You  of  all  names  the  sweetest  and  the  best ; 
You  Muses,  Books,  and  Liberty,  and  Rest ; 
You  Gardens,  Fields,  and  Woods." 


It  is  no  valid  objection  to  our  argument  to  remind  us  that  some 
"  misuse  the  bounteous  Pan,  and  think  the  gods  amiss."  That  is  to 
quote  the  perversion  of  a  privilege,  and  not  its  legitimate  use.  Petrarch, 
for  instance,  only  aggravated  the  fires  that  consumed  him,  when  he 
buried  himself  in  the  lonely  recesses  of  Vaucluse.  But  had  he  gone 
there  to  study  "the  quaint  mossiness  of  aged  roots"  by  day,  and  at  night 
gazed  with  acutest  sympathy  upon  "  the  star  of  Jove,  so  beautiful  and 
large," — instead  of  tamely  succiunbing  before  "  the  patient  brilliance 
of  the  moon ; "  had  he  been  ambitious  rather  to  "  hve  in  the  rainbow 
and  play  in  the  plighted  cloutls,"  he  might,  on  the  bleakest  summit, 
and  with  a  richer  facility  than  in  the  pampered  palace,  have  created 
"  Eschylean  shapes  of  the  subhme,"  and  been  imbued  with  energies 
nobler  far  than  ever  graced  the  marble  porch  whei'e  ^visdom  was  wont 
to  teach  with  Socrates  and  Tully.  It  ha.s  l)een  among  deserts,  on 
islands,  in  caverns,  or  when  hidden  by  other  di-apery  of  seclusion  the 
most  opaque,  that  philosophers,  statesmen,  and  heroes,  have  obtained 


12  SCENERY      AND       MIND. 

tliat  faith  and  t'ervor  h\  wLicli  tliey  secured  triunijOumt  success  in  the 
end,  even  thougli  martyrdom  was  their  road. 

The  best  education  consists  ui  the  most  thorough  training  of  natu- 
ral energy.  In  all  moral  architecture,  as  in  material,  the  elegant 
should  rest  on  the  substantial,  and  clearly  indicate  the  firmness  it 
adorns.  Large  portions  of  a  temj^le  admit  of  being  highly  polished, 
but  he  would  not  be  a  very  wise  builder  who  should  set  about  his 
structm'e  with  nothing  but  polishings.  They  who  have  "  yellowed 
themselves  among  rolls  and  records"  are  not  generally  the  persons 
who  exert  the  most  salutary  influence,  and  make  the  most  indelible 
impress  on  mankind.  On  the  contrary,  hajipiest  and  mightiest  are 
they  wbo  are  boi'u  and  reared  where  free  course  is  allowed  to  the 
influences  with  whick  creative  power  kas  benignantly  surrounded  us. 
"  Happy  they  wko  are  located  in  tke  true  infant-sckool  of  God  and 
Nature  ;  on  wkom  tkis  grand  moving  panorama  skeds  all  its  ckanging 
ligkts,  and  bestows  all  its  successive  scenes ;  wko  watck  tke  revohdng 
stars,  and  tke  jirogression  of  brigkt  constellations,  in  no  bomided 
korizon  ;  for  wkom  tkere  ai'e  tke  infinite  efl:ects,  daily  and  nigktly,  of 
sunligkt  and  moonligkt,  over  kill  and  plain, — better  stiU  if  tke  vast 
ocean  add  its  skifting  colors  and  tke  accompaniment  of  its  continuous 
and  resounduig  antkem  ;  to  wkom  a  kundred  birds  and  plants,  in 
rapid  succession,  teU  of  advancing  spring ;  wkose  montks  tke  flowers 
calendar ;  wkose  autumn  is  infallibly  marked  by  tke  ripened  grain  and 
tke  skeaves  of  joyous  karvest ;  wko  make  an  era  in  tke  few  years  of 
tkeu'  ckronology  by  some  more  memoralJe  storm  or  severer  frost ; 
and  wko  ckange  tkeii"  sports  and  occupations  witk  ckanging  natm-e, 
receiving  tkrougk  every  inlet  tke  influences  of  God's  spirit,  and 
rejoicing  in  all.  Not  tkat  ckildren  can  feel  tke  beauty  or  tke  gran- 
deur, still  less  (live  into  tke  wisdom  of  tkis  miglity  sckeuie  of  tkings, 
but  i/te  i-t/i/iiilN-s  is  on   them,  the  novelty  is  adapted    to  and   excites 


SCENEKYAND       MIND.  13 

them  ;  Niitiii'e  has  her  way  A^ithin  them  as  well  lus  parents  and  teacli- 
ers  ;  and  the  senses  do  such  duty  as  in  the  crowded  city  school-room 
they  never  yet  performed  nor  ever  can.  And  thus  they  go  on  from 
infancy  to  youth,  groTving  in  the  best  knowledge  of  humanity ;  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  in  which  God  has  placed  them  ;  and  thereby 
becoming  fit  to  grapple  with  the  diificulties  and  triumph  in  the  moral 
conflicts  that  wiU  present  themselves  in  maturer  life,  as  they  come  into 
the  world  that  man  has  fashioned." 

The  superiority  of  nature  over  art,  as  a  source  of  pleasure  and 
profit,  is  worthy  of  special  note.  When  we  enter  magnificent  monu- 
ments of  human  skill,  we  are  at  first  struck  with  the  costly  decorations 
of  wood,  pigments,  marble,  and  gold.  But  after  repeated  views,  we 
feel  no  longer  charmed,  and  the  mental  pleasure  received  at  the  first 
glance  is  continually  decreased.  Whereas,  in  contemplating  the  works 
of  nature,  from  the  minutest  specimen  to  the  most  majestic,  and  most 
powerfully  when  the  sense  of  perception  is  armed  with  greatest  clear- 
ness and  force,  the  devotee  feels  that  the  luxury  of  observation  is  con- 
stantly enhanced.  The  prospect  of  the  country  never  satiates  us  ;  the 
landscape,  'ft'ith  all  its  changes,  is  ever  new,  and  every  day  invests  it 
with  some  fresh  aspect  to  delight  and  invigorate  the  mind.  Love  of 
natural  olgects,  and  especially  a  preference  for  whatever  makes  scenery 
of  the  wilder  or  more  romantic  kind,  is  a  prevaihng  element  hi  all 
character  of  the  most  marked  and  practical  use.  There  is  down  upon 
the  breast  of  eagles  ;  and  the  strongest  men  have  usually  the  gentlest 
natures,  because  they  habitually  live  ui  intimate  and  affectionate  alli- 
ance with  the  mildest  as  well  as  mightiest  influence.  As  an  elej^haut 
crashes  through  jungles  and  over  crags,  whetting  his  tusks,  and  as  the 
imperial  bird  of  prey  seeks  some  storm-worn  summit  to  sharpen  his 
talons,  so  every  one,  quick  to  feel  and  invincible  to  subdue,  like 
Achilles,  will  court  retirement  ui  great  nature's  quiet  nooks,  where  he 


14  SCENERY     AND      MIND. 

may  recrait  his  meutal  strength  and  stiiug  his  Low.  Ai-chimedes,  a 
man  of  stupendous  genius,  was  accustomed  to  say,  that,  next  to  the 
solution  of  a  problem,  was  the  pleasure  of  an  evening  walk  in  the 
suburbs  of  Syi*acuse.  Descartes,  having  settled  the  place  of  a  planet 
in  the  morning,  would  amuse  himself  in  the  evening  by  w^eeding  and 
watering  a  bed  of  flowers.  Gray,  one  of  the  most  intellectual  and 
fastidious  of  men,  says,  "  Happy  they  who  can  create  a  rose-tree,  or 
erect  a  honey-suckle  ;  who  can  watch  the  brood  of  a  hen,  or  a  fleet  of 
theii"  own  ducklings  as  they  sail  upon  the  water."  The  love  of  nature 
is,  indeed,  mstiuctive  in  all  superior  minds.  Philosoi^hers  hving  in  the 
time  of  Philostratus  were  accustomed  to  retire  to  the  shades  of  Mount 
Athos,  where  "  Metlitation  might  think  down  hoiirs  to  moments." 
Catullus,  Martial,  and  Statins  were  ardent  admii'ers  of  rural  life ; 
especially  so  were  Atticus,  Tacitus,  and  Epictetus.  Cicero,  who  valued 
himself  more  upon  his  taste  for  the  cultivation  of  philosophy,  than 
upon  his  talents  for  oratory,  had  no  less  than  eighteen  diftereut  coun- 
try residences  in  various  parts  of  his  beautiful  native  land.  He  speaks 
of  them  m  terms  of  fondest  attachment ;  and  they  were  all  situated 
in  such  delightful  points  of  view,  as  to  deserve  being  called  "  the  eyes 
of  Italy."  The  i-etreat  of  Tusculum  was  his  favorite  residence.  It 
was  the  most  elegant  mansion  of  that  elegant  age  ;  and  the  beauty  of 
the  landscape  around  it,  adding  a  higher  worth  to  the  site  than  all 
the  charms  Atticus  could  purchase  for  its  master  at  Athens,  to  the 
highest  degree  refined  the  taste  of  its  accomplished  possessor.  "When, 
fatigued  with  business,  and  happy  in  being  allowed  the  indulgence  of 
sequestered  recreation,  the  great  master  of  the  Fornin,  "from  whose 
hps  sweet  elocpience  distilled,  as  honey  from  the  Ijee,"  could  mingle  in 
the  unrestrained  com2")anionship  of  such  friends  as  Scipio  and  Atticus 
and  Laelins,  at  Caieta  and  Lauvcntuni,  tlicy  together  strove  to  grow 
boys  again  in  tlicii'  aiiiuscuK'nts,  and  (K-rived  no  igimlile  ph'asure  from 


SCENERY     AND      MIND.  15 

gatliering  sliells  upon  tlie  sea-shore.  Simplicity  and  dignity  always 
coalesce  witli  tlie  utmost  gentleness  and  good-nature,  in  the  pei'sons 
and  amusements  of  the  truly  great.  They  are  equal  to  the  society  of 
the  most  refined  and  emdite,  in  all  the  delicate  sobriety  of  exalted 
life  ;  and,  with  equal  spontaneity  of  native  greatness  and  acquired 
grace,  can  run,  shout,  and  leap,  Avith  juvenile  thoughts  and  limbs.  It 
is  not  in  the  lea.st  surprising  to  find  Cicero  so  often  urging  us  to  study 
the  natural  beauties  of  the  country  in  which  we  live.  He  asserts  it  to 
be  the  most  auspicious  pleasure  of  youth,  and  the  most  soothing  joy  of 
serene  old  age.  Livy  and  Sallust  were  also  A-iAadly  conscious  of  such 
impressions,  and  of  the  worth  they  confer.  Phny  the  younger  declared 
himself  never  to  have  been  happier  than  when  he  was  indulging  him- 
self at  his  country  seats,  where  in  healthful  leism-e  he  wrote  his  works, 
and  celeljrated  the  views  which  his  \Tllas  aftbrded.  "  K  life  were  not 
too  short,"  says  Sir  William  Jones,  "  for  the  complete  discharge  of  all 
om'  respective  duties,  public  and  private,  and  for  the  acquisition  of 
necessary  knowledge  in  any  degree  of  perfection,  with  how  much 
pleasure  and  improvement  might  a  great  part  of  it  be  spent,  in  admir- 
ing the  beauties  of  this  wonderful  orb  ! "  The  graces  willingly  lend 
their  zone  to  embellish  and  fortify  the  passions  of  a  noble  breast. 
Assimilating  to  himself  the  richest  coutriljutions  from  all  som'ces  of 
the  beautiful,  the  true,  and  the  sublime,  the  severest  student  and  most 
usefid  citizen  secures  to  himself  the  delightful  companionship  of  that 
potent  and  infallible  guide  described  by  Campbell : 

"  Taste,  like  the  silent  dial's  power, 
Which,  when  supernal  light  is  given, 
Can  measure  inspiration's  hour, 
And  tell  its  height  in  heaven ! " 

We  have  now  considered  tw^o  positions,  assumed  at  the  outset : 


16  SCKNERTAND      MIND. 

fii'st,  what  is  most  abuudaut  in  nature  is  most  enuoLliug  in  its  effects ; 
and,  secondly,  that  the  best  minds  are  most  influenced  by  natui-al 
excellence.  It  remains  to  indicate,  thirdly,  how  character,  as  stamped 
on  literature,  has  ever  been  toned  by  tlie  predominant  characteristics 
of  native  scenery. 

In  portraying  the  influence  ^\'hioh  the  inanimate  creation  exerts 
upon  mind  and  letters  every  where,  we  employ  'wliat  has  been  univer- 
sally felt  and  acknowledged.  The  wise  man  in  his  lonely  turret,  high 
among  the  palaces  of  Babylon,  and  the  unsojihisticated  shepherd  as  he 
watched  his  flocks  at  midnight  on  the  plains  of  Chaldea,  recognized  in 
the  aspects  and  movements  of  the  planetary  world  an  intimate  relation 
to  the  mysterious  Adcissitudes  of  hmnan  life,  and  the  otherwise  unre- 
vealed  determinations  of  human  destiny.  In  the  constitution  of  man- 
kind, the  religious  instinct  and  literary  taste  are  intimately  allied,  and 
seem,  indeed,  to  a  great  extent,  the  same.  "  The  untutored  negro, 
when  he  prostrates  himself  on  the  reedy  Ijank  of  his  native  stream, 
and  adores  the  Deity  of  the  stream  in  the  shape  of  the  crocodile,  or 
bows  before  the  poison  tree,  in  reverence  to  the  God  of  poisons,  obeys 
this  native  impulse  of  humanity,  no  less  than  the  disciple  of  Zoroaster 
who  climbs  the  highest  mountain  tops,  unsoiled  by  the  profane  foot- 
steps of  trade  or  of  cm-iosity,  where  the  air  is  ever  pure,  and  the  sun 
greets  the  earth  witli  its  earhest  light,  to  pay  his  vt)ws  and  offer  his 
incense  to  the  visible  symbols  of  Divinity,  to  his  mind  themselves 
divinities ;  or  the  outcast  Guebre,  who  with  forbidden  and  untold  of 
rites,  worships  an  ever  burning  flame  —  to  him  the  elemental  principle 
of  natui'e."  The  chai'aeter  of  the  early  jiatriarc-lis  was  m>  doubt  chiefly 
moidded  by  the  peculiarity  of  their  habitation  and  pursuits.  Their 
manner  of  life  upon  the  great  oceans  of  wilderness  and  jxusture,  gave 
breadth  and  ehusticity  to  their  intellects.  The  free  mountain  winds 
liad   leave   to  lilow   against    tlieiii,  their   eyes   drank    the  rivers  with 


SCENERY      AND      MIND.  lY 

deliglit,  aud  tlie  vault  of  lieaveu  uuder  Avlilcli  tliey  d\^'t'lt,  witli  all  its 
miglity  stars,  elevated  their  feelings  no  less  than  it  exjsanded  their 
minds. 

The  Hebrew  prophets  of  a  later  day  lived  equally  in  the  eye  of 
natui'e.  Says  GilfiUan  :  "  We  always  figure  them  -wdth  cheeks  em- 
browned by  the  noons  of  the  Ea.st.  The  sun  had  looked  on  them, 
but  it  was  lovingly  —  the  moon  had  '  smitten '  them,  but  it  was  with 
poetry,  not  madness  —  they  had  drimk  in  fire,  the  fire  of  Eastern  day, 
from  a  hundred  sources  —  from  the  lukewarm  brooks  of  their  land, 
from  the  rich  colors  of  their  vegetation,  from  their  mornings  of 
unclouded  brightness,  from  theii*  afternoons  of  thunder,  from  the  large 
stars  of  their  evenings  and  nights.  The  heat  of  their  climate  was 
strong  enough  to  enkindle  but  not  to  enervate  their  frames,  inured  as 
they  were  to  toil,  fatigue,  fastmg,  and  frequent  travel.  They  dwelt  in 
a  land  of  hills  and  valleys,  of  brooks  and  streams,  of  spots  of  exube- 
rant vegetation,  of  ii"on-ribbed  rocks  and  mountains  —  a  land,  on  one 
side,  dipping  down  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  on  another,  floating  up 
into  Lebanon,  and  on  the  others,  edged  by  deserts,  teeming  at  once 
with  dreadful  scenery  and  secrets  —  through  which  had  passed  of  old 
time  the  march  of  the  Almighty,  and  where  his  anger  had  left  for  its 
memorials,  here,  the  sandy  sepulchre  of  those  thousands  whose  car- 
casses fell  in  the  wilderness,  and  there,  a  whole  Dead  Sea  of  vengeance, 
lowering  amid  a  desolation  fit  to  be  the  very  gateway  to  hell:  — 
standing  between  their  song  and  subject-matter,  and  such  a  fiery  chme, 
and  such  stern  scenery,  the  Hebrew  l)ards  were  enabled  to  indite  a 
laru/uage  more  deeply  dyed  in  the  colors  of  the  sun,  more  intensely 
metaphorical,  more  faithfully  transcriptive  of  nature,  a  simpler,  and 
yet  larger  utterance,  than  ever  before  or  since  rushed  out  from  the 
heart  and  tongue  of  man." 

But  no  where  do  the  instincts  of  man,  in  their  alliance  mth  his 
3 


18  SCENERY      AND       MIND. 

noUest  productions,  appear  more  strongly  marked  hy  the  influence  of 
surrounding  scenery,  than  in  tlie  early  training  and  national  literatiire 
of  "  pagan  Greece."  That  wondeiful  people  seem  fully  to  have  under- 
stood that  man  -was  made  to  grow  up  harmoniously,  vnih  simidtaneous 
expansion  of  trunk,  Lranch,  and  foliage,  as  grows  a  tree ;  the  sap  of 
immortal  energy  must  circidate  -n-ithout  hindi-ance  in  every  fibre, 
maturing  fruits  perennial  and  divine. 

Two  laws  manifestly  govern  the  constitution  of  our  being,  a  due 
regard  to  which  is  mdispensable  to  our  highest  welfare.  In  the  first 
place,  in  proportion  as  the  physical  natm"e  of  man  is  developed  by 
suitable  discipline,  winning  the  greatest  vigor  of  limb,  and  the  greatest 
acuteness  of  sense,  he  will  derive  important  aids  to  the  intellect  and 
moral  powers  from  the  perfections  of  his  outward  frame.  IVIoreover, 
by  a  delightful  reaction,  the  mind,  in  j^roportion  as  it  is  invigorated 
and  l)eautified,  gives  strength  and  elegauce  to  the  l)ody,  and  enlarges 
the  sphere  of  action  and  enjoyment.  These  laws  have  been  observed 
by  the  best  educators  of  the  world.  At  Athens,  the  g}Txmasia  became 
temples  of  the  Graces.  In  these  appropriate  fields  of  moral  traming, 
the  refined  Greek  could  gratiiy  his  fondness  for  the  beautiful,  sur- 
rounded on  every  hand  by  the  combined  charms  of  nature  and  art. 
Every  festival  of  childhood  was  rendered  enchanting  with  fiowers  and 
music ;  the  barge,  as  it  was  pushed  in  bojdsh  sport  on  the  lake,  was 
crowned  with  garlands  ;  the  oars  were  moved  to  the  sound  of  "  sweet 
recorders,"  and  the  patriotic  mother  at  home  sang  an  inspiiing  lullaby, 
as  she  rocked  her  infant  to  sleep  in  the  broad  shield  of  its  robust 
tather.  There  were  wrestliags  for  all  classes  in  the  i)ala?stra,  as  well 
as  races  and  heroic  contests  for  the  foremost  ranks ;  there  were  gay 
revels  on  the  mountain-sides,  and  moonhght  dances  in  the  groves. 
The  popular  games  described  in  the  twenty-fourth  book  of  the  Iliad, 
and   the  eighth   of  the  Odyssey,  all   I'elate  to  important  oliMiuMits  in 


SCENERY       AKD       MIND.  19 

uatioiial  education.  Those  ancient  festivals  bad  the  finest  infiucuce 
uj^on  the  inhaljitants  of  the  metropolis,  and  upon  those  who  (hvelt  the 
most  remote.  Every  pilgrim  through  such  lands,  to  such  shrines, 
became  Briareus-hauded  and  Argus-eyed.  The  beautiful  scenes,  full 
of  patriotic  and  refined  associations,  which  every  where  arrested  his 
attention,  gave  hun  the  travellei-'s  "  thirsty  eye,"  filled  his  mind  with 
thrilling  reminiscences,  and  caused  him  to  return  to  his  home  glowing 
with  brilliant  descriptions  and  burdened  with  exalted  thoughts.  It 
was  thus  that  the  youthful  Greek  mingled  with  his  studies  pedestrian 
exercise  and  acute  observation,  formed  his  body  to  fatigue,  while  he 
stored  hLs  mind  with  the  choicest  ideas,  and  became  equally  skilled  in 
handling  a  sword,  subduing  a  horse,  or  building  a  temple.  Such  was 
the  education  found  in  the  Lyceum  where  Aristotle  lectured,  and  in 

"  Tlie  olive-grove  of  Academe, 
Plato's  retii'ement,  where  tlie  attic  bii'd 
Trills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long : 
There  flowery  hiU  Hymettus,  with  the  sound 
Of  bees'  industiious  miumur,  oft  invites 
To  studious  musing." 

No  Grecian  city  was  without  its  public  squares,  airy  colonnades, 
spacious  halls,  and  shady  groves ;  herein  the  people  lived,  transacted 
their  business,  passed  their  leisure,  and  improved  their  minds.  The 
serene  heaven  which  that  land  enjoys,  was  the  best-loved  roof  of  its 
population ;  the  grateful  breeze,  resounding  sea,  and  brilliant  sun,  were 
theii'  perpetual  recreation  and  dehght.  The  country  was  looked  upon 
as  affording  the  only  happy  home.  Large  towns  were  regarded  as 
huge  prisons,  but  these  were  made  as  rural  as  possible.  Whatever 
splendors  might  gleam  from  the  capitol,  Pan  and  his  rustic  train  were 


20  SCENEKY      AND      MIND. 

most  fascinating  to  tlie  pojjular  intellect  and  lieart.  Familiar  as  the 
sensibilities  and  imagination  of  the  people  were  with  the  outward 
world,  and  connecting  the  changing  seasons  and  fruits  of  earth  wiih. 
some  occult  power  that  regulated  and  produced  them,  theii-  enthusiasm 
created  and  sustauied  presiding  deities,  propitious  in  the  calm,  and 
adverse  in  the  storm.  Every  gushing  fountain  was  the  dwelling  of  a 
nym^jh ;  dryads  shared  with  man  the  shelter  and  repose  of  groves ;  on 
each  hill  an  oread  presided  benignantly  over  the  shepherds  and  their 
flocks ;  while  a  goddess,  more  fruitful  than  "  the  silver-shafted  queen, 
for  ever  chaste,"  glided  before  the  reapers,  and  shook  the  golden  har- 
vest from  her  lap  on  every  plain.  Speakers  and  writers  the  most 
popular,  were  so  because  they  shared  most,  and  expressed  most  clearly, 
the  popular  feeling.  Of  all  literatures,  the  Grecian  is  most  clearly 
marked  with  a  thoroughly  out-of-door  character.  Fresh  morning  air 
breathes  through  and  glows  about  its  twin  fii'st-births  of  Poetry  and 
Philosophy,  hke  the  clear  sky  which  still  hangs  above  the  two  lofty 
peaks  of  Parnassus.  One  of  the  most  dehghtful  treatises  that  antiquity 
has  transmitted  to  us,  is  the  (Economics  of  Xenophon,  in  which  the 
pm-suits  and  pleasures  of  husbandry  are  described  in  that  beautiful 
manner  which  l)est  befits  the  subject.  And  Pindar,  as  if  ejqjressmg 
the  universal  cou\'iction,  as  well  as  the  most  cherished  affection  of  his 
race,  has  said,  that  "  he  deserves  to  be  called  the  most  excellent,  who 
knows  much  of  nature." 

Respecting  the  harmony  of  the  jihysical  temperature,  landscapes, 
and  literature  of  Greece,  an  intelligent  traveller  has  recently  testified 
as  follows  :  "  The  beauty  of  the  scenery,  so  far  as  my  experience 
extends,  was  unsurpassed  by  any  in  the  world.  For  no  where  ai-e 
land  and  water  mixed  together  in  such  just  proportions  ;  islands  and 
bays  break  the  monotony  of  the  one,  and  relieve  and  rejieat  the  beau- 
ties of  the  otlier  ;   and  no  where  do  soft  valleys  fade  more  inseiisil>ly 


SCENERY      AND      All  ND.  21 

iiito  sublime  mouutaius :  aud  Avlieu  cue  of  these  was  crowned  by 
forests,  aud  tlie  otlier  riclily  cultivated  aud  studded  witli  gardeus  and 
habitations,  it  must  have  surpassed  all  other  lands,  aud  almost  does  so 
now."  It  is  evident  that,  if  the  climate  was  not  so  luxmious  as  that 
of  Egyi^t,  it  was  far  more  exhilaratuig,  and  instead  of  tending  to  ener- 
vate, was  sufficiently  severe  always  to  in^^,gorate,  Avhile  it  was  at  the 
same  time  so  genial  as  to  invest  the  general  aspect  of  nature  with  the 
loveliest  charm,  and  to  awaken  all  the  more  delicate  emotions  of  the 
human  heart.  We  know  from  her  admiring  writers,  that  in  that  land 
of  the  cicada  and  the  nightingale,  each  sound  was  melody,  and  all  the 
hues  of  earth  and  heaven  were  harmonious,  Hke  the  leaves  of  "  Spiing's 
sweetest  book,  the  rose."  Fine  thought  was  spontaneous  and  yet  per- 
fect, as  the  song  of  nature's  own  melodists,  "  singmg  of  summer  m  full- 
throated  ease  ; "  and  the  softest  combinations  of  articulate  exjiression 
were  but  echoes  of  the  notes  which  joyous  zephyi-s  ehcited  along  the 
clifis  of  Parnes,  or  wafted  from  the  gi'oves  of  Colonus.  The  deification 
of  enthusiasm,  embodied  in  the  worship  of  Dionysos,  cannot,  under 
such  cii-cumstances,  excite  sui-prise.  Among  a  people  so  full  of  mspi- 
ration,  adoration  under  some  form  was  a  grateful  vent,  and  a  primary 
necessity.  The  agrarian  rehgion  of  the  Pelasgic  herdsmen  to  the  last 
occupied  the  Athenian  acropolis,  whUe  the  later  aud  more  dehcate 
system  of  Ionian  mythology  spread  its  temples  over  the  subjacent 
plains.  This  latter  is  known  to  modern  tunes  iu  the  literatm-e  of  clas- 
sical paganism.  The  pleasing  ritual  which  the  beech-woods  of  Thrace 
contributed  to  that  system,  in  the  worship  of  ApoUo  and  the  Muses, 
was  a  romantic  element  which  foimd  easy  access  to  the  Greek  mind, 
and  was  welcome  there.  Oracular  places  testified  that  earth  was  the 
vehicle  of  revelations  to  man,  whether  it  were  by  her  own  vaporous 
breath,  whispeiing  ia  the  oak  branches,  the  flight  and  voices  of  her 
creatures,  or  the  sportive  cycles  into  which   inscribed  leaves  were 


22  SCENERY      AND       MIND. 

sti-owii  l)y  the  -wiiul.  Ileuce  arose  the  pautlieism  of  antiquity,  -whicli 
worsliiped  eartli  herself  as  the  supreme  divinity  ;  a  self-originated 
storehouse  of  all  power  and  knowledge,  in  whose  awful  centre,  over 
which  Delphi  stood,  all  beneficent  and  malignant  virtues  were  permit- 
ted to  contend  and  awe  the  world  "wdth  the  subhme  mystery  of  their 
strife. 

The  Greek  mythology  exhibits  much  more  appreciation  of,  and 
minuter  inquisition  into  natural  phenomena  than  the  literature  of  the 
Romans.  To  the  mind  of  the  latter  nation  every  thing  was  more 
objective ;  and  yet  the  master-sj^irits  among  them  were  far  from  being 
indifferent  to  the  beauties  and  sublimities  of  the  material  world.  The 
fact  of  Catidlus  having  a  \Tlla  so  far  from  Rome  as  the  peninsula  of 
Sermione,  where  he  could  look  at  rugged  Alps,  is  but  one  of  many 
instances  we  have  of  Romans  in  love  with  natural  l)eauty.  The  best 
minds  there,  as  elsewhere,  knew  that  the  true  method  of  viemug  aU 
created  things,  is  to  unite  poetry  to  science,  and  to  enlist  both  in  the 
pursuit  of  trutli,  in  order  that  both  may  2)urify  the  heart  and  aggran- 
dize the  mind.  Said  Cicero,  "  There  is  nothing  so  delightful  in  litera- 
ture as  that  branch  which  enaliles  us  to  discern  the  immensity  of 
nature ;  and  which,  teaching  us  magnanimity,  rescues  the  soul  from 
obscurity."  Tlie  practice  of  this  great  man  comported  with  his  theory, 
and  substantiated  it.  He  tells  us  in  his  letters,  that  when  most  crushed 
with  j)rofessional  cares,  he  would  retire  for  weeks  together  from  public 
life,  and  recreate  himself  in  his  quiet  Cuman  ^nlla,  w^here  he  enjoyed 
fresh  breezes  from  the  Tuscan  ocean,  that  rolled  lieneath  his  windows, 
and  where,  thus  invigorated,  he  wrote  his  fimious  sis  books  upon 
Government.  Such  thinkers  ever  derive  their  finest  inspii-ation  and 
firmest  strength  from  great  nature,  whose  every  kingdom  they  pant  to 
ex])lore ;  tlicii'  inipciial  career  is  "known  to  every  star  and  every 
wind  tliat  Mows,"  giving  the  assurance  that  Mliat  they  say  and  do  will 


SCENERY       AND       MIND.  23 

survive  in  perpetually  augmented  power,  "  wlien  tyrants'  crests  and 
tombs  of  brass  are  spent."  In  all  their  purposes  and  pursuits,  tliey 
aspire  only  to  a  place 

"Amid  til'  august  and  never-dying  light 
Of  constellated  spirits,  who  have  gained 
A  name  in  heaven,  by  power  of  heavenly  deeds." 

No  wiiter,  among  the  Romans,  lias  sho-mi  a  greater  relish  for 
natural  l)eauty,  than  Horace.  He  might  well  rank  himself  among  the 
"  lovers  of  the  country  ; "  not  only  as  his  works  abound  in  its  praises, 
but  because  he  could  prefer  his  Sabiue  retreat  to  a  distinguished  posi- 
tion at  the  court  of  Augustus.  The  odes  of  this  accm-ate  observer  of 
men  and  things  aliound  with  exquisite  pictures  of  I'ural  pursuits,  con- 
nected with  the  diversified  incidents  and  manners  of  life.  If  he  cele- 
brates the  powers  of  whie,  the  pleasm-e  of  sitting  under  the  umbrageous 
fohage  and  luscious  clusters  is  not  forgotten.  If  the  charms  of  his 
mistress  be  the  theme  of  his  song,  the  rose  is  not  more  beautiful,  nor 
has  the  violet  a  perfimie  more  sweet.  When  war  is  portrayed,  he  for- 
gets not  to  contrast  its  paias  and  its  bloody  horrors  with  the  tranquil 
and  innocent  pleasures  of  a  smiling  landscape,  enlivened  with  the  hum 
of  rural  sport,  and  prohfic  cultivation.  The  woods  and  fields  he  loved 
were  enjoyed  as  often  as  possible  ;  and  when  confined  to  hLs  couch  at 
Eome,  he  still  delights  in  the  remembrance  of  vernal  and  vintage  inci- 
dents, when  vigorous  husbandmen  urge  their  team,  and  happy  peasants 
shout  the  harvest-home.  "  Ah  !  "  exclaims  he,  "  how  dehghted  I  am, 
when  wandering  among  steep  rocks  and  the  sombre  wUderness ;  since 
the  shades  of  forests  and  the  murmuring  of  waters  inspire  my  fancy, 
and  will  render  me  renowned.  Sing,  oh !  ye  virgins,  the  beauties  of 
Thessalian  Tempe,  and  the  wandering  isle  of  Delos : — celebrate,  oh  ! 


24  SCENERY      AND       MIND. 

ye  yoiitlLS,  the  cliarms  of  tliat  goddess,  who  dehghts  in  flowing  rivers 
and  the  shades  of  trees ;  who  lives  on  the  mountain  of  Algidus,  among 
the  impenetrable  woods  of  Erjinanthus,  and  on  the  green  and  fertile 
Cragus." 

Virgil  alludes  less  fi-equently  to  the  climate  and  scenery  of  Italy, 
biit  he  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  mild  splendor  which  adorns 
that  beautiful  clhue.  Though  he  seems  always  wishing  for  the  cool 
valleys  of  Hsemus,  and  is  most  acutely  appreciative  of  the  more  clas- 
sical regions  of  Greece,  he  was  by  no  means  indifferent  to  the  diversi- 
fied charms  of  his  native  land.  This  we  know  fi'om  his  history,  can 
perceive  it  in  his  writiugs,  and  have  felt  it  most  when  standing  amid 
the  glories  that  mantle  his  chosen  grave. 

The  Romans,  not  less  than  the  Greeks,  in  feeling  their  way 
through  mythologic  gloom,  were  conscious  of  a  pi'eternatural  awe 
which  gleamed  upon  them  from  cavernous  waters  and  darkened  from 
shaggy  hills.  "  Where  is  a  lofty  and  deeply-shaded  grove,"  writes 
Seneca,  "  filled  with  venerable  trees,  whose  mterlaciug  boughs  shut  out 
the  face  of  heaven,  the  grandeur  of  the  wood,  the  silence  of  the  place, 
the  shade  so  dense  and  uniform,  infuse  into  the  breast  the  notion  of  a 
divinity."  Hence  the  quickened  imagination  of  the  ancients,  striving 
to  supply  a  void  which  nature  had  created  but  could  not  fill,  peoj^led 
each  grove,  fountain,  or  grotto,  mth  a  captivating  ti'ain  of  sylvan 
deities.  Intercourse  with  these,  in  the  scenes  which  they  sanctified, 
was  deemed  more  ausj)icious  to  health  and  morals,  than  the  arid  and 
vitiating  influence  of  crowded  towms.  Plutarch,  for  instance,  after 
assei'ting  that  the  troubled  hfe  of  cities  is  injurious  to  the  study  of 
philosophy,  and  that  solitude  is  the  school  of  wisdom,  proceeds  to 
show,  that  the  pure  air  of  the  country,  and  the  absence  of  all  tlisturb- 
ance  from  within,  conduce  most  to  the  instruction  and  ])urificatiou 
of  the  soul.      "  On  this  account,  also,"  he  adds,  "  the  temi)los  of  the 


SCENERY       AND       MINI).  25 

gods,  as  mauy  as  were  constructed  iii  aucieut  times,  M-ere  ahvajs  in 
solitary  places,  especially  tlie  temples  of  the  Muses  and  of  Pan,  and 
of  the  Nymphs  of  Apollo,  and  of  as  many  as  were  guides  of  harmony; 
judging,  I  suppose,  that  cities  were  necessarily  fearful  and  polluted 
places  for  the  education  of  youth." 

In  contemplating  the  relative  influence  of  scenery  on  mind,  we 
shall  prolialdy  conclude  that  mountains  exert  the  greatest  and  most 
salutary  power.  The  intellect  of  a  j^eople,  in  its  primitive  unfoldings 
amid  elemental  grandeurs,  lies  as  it  were  in  Nature's  arms,  feeds  at  her 
breast,  looks  up  into  her  face,  smiles  at  her  smiles,  shuddei-s  at  her 
frowns,  is  adorned  with  her  gracefulness,  and  fortified  with  her 
streng-th.  Beauty  and  sublimity  are  thus  interfused  and  commingled 
with  the  whole  substance  of  the  nrind,  as  the  glow  of  perfect  health 
mixes  itself  ^^dth  the  whole  substance  of  the  body,  unthought  of,  it 
may  be,  until  the  ^\'orld  is  reminded  of  its  potent  fascination  in  deeds 
the  mio-htiest  and  most  beneficent.  The  mind  and  works  of  indi^^Lduals 
tend  strongly  to  assimilate  with  the  nature  of  their  parent  soil.  Dr. 
Clarke  thought  that  the  lofty  genius  of  Alexander  Avas  nourished  by 
the  majestic  presence  of  mount  Olympus,  under  the  shadow  of  which 
he  may  be  said  to  have  been  born  and  bred.  Grand  natural  scenery 
tends  permanently  to  affect  the  character  of  those  cradled  in  its 
laosom,  is  the  nursery  of  patriotism  the  most  firm  and  eloquence  the 
most  thrillmg.  Elastic  as  the  air  they  breathe,  free  and  joyous  as  the 
torrents  that  dash  through  their  rural  possessions,  strong  as  the  granite 
highlands  from  which  they  wring  a  hardy  livelihood,  the  enterprising 
children  of  the  hills,  noble  and  high-minded  by  original  endowment, 
are  like  the  glorious  regions  of  rugged  adventure  they  love  to  occupy. 
This  is  an  universal  rule.  The  Foulahs  dwelHng  on  the  high  Alps  of 
Africa,  are  as  superior  to  the  trilies  li\nng  beneath,  a.s  the  inhabitants 
of  Cashmere  are  al)0ve  the  Hindoos,  or  as  the  Tyrolese  are  nobler 
4 


26  SCEXERT      AND       M  INn. 

than  the  Aral)  race.  The  physical  aspect  and  moral  traits  of  nations 
are  in  a  great  measure  influenced  hj  their  local  position,  circumstances 
of  climate,  popular  traditions,  and  the  scenery  in  the  midst  of  wliich 
they  arise.  The  transition  firom  the  monotonous  plains  of  Lombardy 
to  the  hold  precipices  of  Switzerland  is,  in  outward  nature,  exactly 
like  that,  in  inward  character,  from  the  crouching  and  squahd  appear- 
ance of  the  l)rutalized  peasant,  to  the  indej^endent  air  and  indomitable 
energy  of  the  free-born  and  intelligent  mountaineer.  The  athletic 
form  and  fearless  eye  of  the  latter  bespeaks  the  freedom  he  has  won  to 
enjoy  and  perpetuate,  the  invigorating  elements  he  buftets  in  hardy 
toil,  and  the  daring  aspirations  he  is  fearless  and  fervid  to  indulge. 
Liberty  has  ever  preferred  to  dwell  in  high  places,  and  thence  comes 
she  down  through  fields  and  towns,  revealing  the  glory  of  her  counte- 
nance, and  diifusing  her  inspiration  through  undaunted  breasts. 

"  Of  old  sat  Freedom  on  tJie  heights, 
The  thunders  breaking  at  her  feet : 
Above  her  shook  the  stariy  lights  : 
She  heard  the  torrents  meet. 

Within  her  palace  she  did  rejoice, 

Selt-gathered  in  her  prophet-mind  ; 
But  fragments  of  her  mighty  voice 

Came  rolling  on  the  wind." 

There  is  in  the  elements  of  tmr  liuinanity  a  perpetual  symjiathy 
with  the  accomj)animents  of  its  first  development.  Nearl}'  all  the 
heroism,  moral  excellence,  and  ennobhng  literature  of  the  world,  has 
been  produced  by  those  who,  in  infancy  and  youth,  were  fostered  by 
the  influence  of  exalted  regions,  where  rocks  and  wilderness  are  piled 
ill  bold  and  iuiuiitable  shapes  of  savage  grandeur,  tinged  Avith  the  hues 


SCENERY      AND       MIND.  27 

of  untold  ceuturies,  aud  over  wliieli  awe-iiispirhig  storms  often  sweep 
with  thunders  in  their  train.  This  is  the  influence  which  more  tlian 
half  created  the  Shakspeares,  Miltons,  Wordsworths,  Scotts,  Coleridges, 
Irvings,  Coopers,  Bryants,  and  Websters  of  the  world ;  aud  without 
much  personal  acquaintance  with  such  scenes,  it  is  impossible  for  a 
reader  to  comprehend  their  highest  individuality  of  character  so  as 
fully  to  relish  the  best  c_[ualities  of  their  works. 

Nearest  allied  to  mountains  in  their  natural  effects,  is  the  influence 
of  oceans  on  national  mind.  The  infinite  is  most  palpably  impressed 
upon  the  lioundless  deep  ;  and  wherever  thought  is  accustomed  mth 
unimpeded  wing  to  soar  from  plains,  or  traverse  opening  vistas  through 
towering  hills,  that  it  may  hover  over  the  azure  waste  of  waters 
becalmed,  or  outspeed  their  foam-crested  billows  in  wildest  storms, 
there  will  literature  present  the  brightest  hneameuts  and  possess  the 
richest  worth.  The  Greek  was  a  hardy  mountaineer,  with  the  most 
dehcate  faculties  of  body  and  soul,  but  he  was  not  imprisoned  by  his 
mountains.  Whenever  he  scaled  a  height,  old  Ocean,  gleaming  with 
eternal  youth,  wooed  him  to  her  embrace,  m  order  to  bear  hun  to 
some  hapjDy  island  of  her  far-off  domain.  On  every  hand  constantly 
appeared  the  two  greatest  stimulants  on  earth  to  emotion  and  thought. 
The  voice  of  the  Mountains,  and  the  voice  of  the  Sea,  "  each  a  mighty 
voice,"  were  ever  rousing  and  guiding  him ;  each  counteractmg  the 
ultra  influence  of  its  opposite.  The  sea  exj^anded  the  range  and  scope 
of  his  thoughts,  which  the  mountain-valleys  might  have  hurtfuUy 
restrained.  For  want  of  this  salutary  blending  of  excitement  and 
control,  it  is,  perhaps,  mainly  owing  that  neither  Tyre  nor  Carthage, 
notwithstanding  their  power  aud  wealth,  occupies  any  notable  place  in 
the  intellectual  history  of  mankind.  But  to  the  Greeks,  the  waste  of 
waters  wa.s  an  inexhaustible  mme  of  mental  wealth.  They  were  an 
amphibious  race,  lords  of  laud  and  sea.     On  shore  aud  afloat  they 


28  SCENEKY       AND       MIND. 

were  eager  listeners  to  the  two  great  heralds,  "Liljerty's  chosen  music," 
calling  them  to  freedom  ;  and  nobly  did  they  answer  to  the  call,  when 
the  sound  of  the  mighty  Pan  was  ringing  on  their  soul,  at  ]\Iarathon 
and  Thermopyhe,  at  Salamis  and  Platea. 

Thii'lwall,  and  Frederic  Schlegel,  have  Loth  called  attention  to 
the  fact,  that  the  literature  of  the  West  is  differenced  from  the  litera- 
ture of  the  East,  l)y  the  same  character  which  distinguishes  Europe 
from  its  neighboring  continents, —  the  great  range  of  its  coasts,  com- 
pared with  the  extent  of  its  surface.  And  Goethe  suggests  that  "  per- 
haps it  is  the  sight  of  the  sea  from  youth  upward,  that  gives  English 
and  Spanish  poets  such  an  advantage  over  those  of  inland  countries." 
Herein  the  great  German  undoubtedly  spoke  from  his  own  feelings ; 
for  he  never  saw  the  sea  till  he  went  to  Italy  in  his  thirty-eighth  year ; 
and  "  many-sided "  as  he  was,  he  doubtless  A\'ould  have  been  a  much 
greater  and  more  comprehensive  master  had  he  dwelt  nearer  the  ocean 
strand.  Francis  Horn,  in  his  survey  of  German  Hterature,  alludes  to 
this  point.  "  Whatever  is  indefinite,  or  seems  so,  is  out  of  keeping 
with  Goethe's  whole  frame  of  mind :  every  thing  with  him  is  terra 
firma  or  an  island :  there  is  nothing  of  the  infinitude  of  the  sea.  This 
conviction  forced  itself  upon  me,  when  for  the  fii-st  time,  at  the  north- 
ernmost extremity  of  Germany,  I  felt  the  sweet  thrilling  produced  by 
the  highest  sublimity  of  Nature.  Here  Shakspeare  alone  comes  for- 
ward, whom  one  finds  every  Avhere,  on  mouutauis  and  in  valleys,  in 
forests,  by  the  side  of  rivers  and  of  brooks.  Thus  far  Goethe  may 
accompany  him  :  but  in  sight  of  the  sea,  Shakspeare  is  by  himself" 
Solger,  also  dwelling  far  in  the  inteiior,  lamented  the  necessary 
remoteness  of  a  power,  habitual  converse  with  which,  a  chance  \dew 
had  assured  him,  would  produce  the  noblest  efltects.  He  is  si^eaking 
of  his  first  sight  of  the  sea:  — "TTei'e,  fV.i-  the  first  time,  I  felt  the 
impression  of  tl:c  illiniitaMc,  as  produced  hy  an  object  of  sense,  in  its 
full  majesty. " 


SCENERY      AND       MIND.  29 

Alfieri  jiccustoinecl  liimsflf  to  lonely  walks  on  the  wild  sca-sliore 
near  Marseilles,  and  those  loeal  influences  gave  a  jjerpetual  tone  and 
energy  to  his  mind.  Every  evening,  after  plunging  in  Neptune's 
domain,  he  would  retreat  to  a  recess  where  the  land  jutted  out,  and 
there  would  he  sit,  leaning  against  a  high  rock  which  concealed  from 
his  sight  the  land  behind  him,  Avhile  before  and  around  he  beheld 
nothing  but  the  sea  and  the  heavens. 

"  Blue  roll'd  the  waters,  blue  tlie  sky 
Spread  like  an  ocean  bung  on  liigb." 

The  sun,  sinking  into  the  waves,  was  lighting  up  and  embelhshing 
these  two  immensities ;  and  there  he  passed  many  an  hour  in  auspicious 
rumination  and  mental  joy.  Happy  are  they  who  love  the  scent  of 
wild  flowers  in  soHtary  woods,  and  with  equal  gladness  listen  to  the 
melody  of  waters  as  they  die  along  the  smooth  beach,  or  crash  in 
thunders  against  the  craggy  coast.  Thiice  happy  are  the  ardent  wor- 
shipers at  some  mountain-shrine,  whence  they  may  contemplate  a 
scene  hke  this  under  "  the  ojieniug  eye-lids  of  the  morn,"  or  when  the 
bold  outlines  of  great  Nature's  temple  are  thrown  into  fine  relief 
against  a  sky  crimsoned  with  sunset  hues.  The  rising  of  day  at  sea, 
and  descending  day  on  the  hills,  are  the  most  sublime  and  suggestive 
scenes  man  can  xiew.  The  sun  marries  eaith  and  ocean  in  harmony 
full  of  heavenly  awe.  This  is  felt  at  evening,  when  there  is  no  filmy 
haze  to  break  the  softness  of  the  west,  where  golden  rays  sj^read 
gently  thi'ough  the  highest  ether,  and  all  is  blended  over  the  vast  and 
glowing  concave  ;  or  when  in  lurid  splendor  he  ghdes  from  peak  to 
peak,  his  rays  flashed  and  reflected  from  cloud  to  cloud,  as  he  sinks 
fi'om  hill  to  hill,  presaging  coming  storms.  Not  less  fascinating  is  the 
magic  of  light  on  Ijlue  unrufiled  waters  sleeping  unilisturljed  at  early 


30  SCENERY      AND      31 1 N  D . 

dawu,  or  gently  curliug  tlieir  rij^pliug  sm-tace  to  catch  the  dancing 
sunbeams  and  reflect  their  mimic  glories.  To  one  standing  on  earth, 
the  god  of  day  appears  with  weary  pace  to  seek  repose  ;  but  at  sea, 
he  rises  all  fresh  and  glowing  from  his  briny  couch,  not  in  softened 
beauty,  but  full  of  dazzling  splendor,  Ijursting  at  once  across  the 
threshold  of  the  deep,  with  the  fiiTQ  and  conscious  step  of  immortal 
youth.  Then,  earth,  aii-,  and  sky,  are  all  in  imison,  and  their  calm 
suljlime  repose  is  rapture  to  the  grandest  souls.  With  Beattie's  ]\Im- 
strel,  they  are  ready  to  exclaim, 


"  Ob,  bow  canst  tbou  reiiouuce  tbo  boundless  store 

Of  cbai-ms  whicb  Natui'e  to  ber  votary  yields  ! 
Tbe  warbling  woodland,  tbe  resounding  sbore, 

Tbe  pomp  of  groves,  and  garniture  of  fields  ; 
Ail  tbat  tbe  genial  ray  of  moming  gilds, 

Aiid  all  tbat  echoes  to  tbe  song  of  even, 
AU  that  tbe  mountam's  sbelteiing  bosom  shields, 

And  all  tbe  dread  magnificence  of  heaven. 
Oh,  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven  !  " 


Lakes,  also,  have  a  marked  influence  on  mind.  Switzerland  hits 
ever  been  a  favorite  resort  for  those  who  are  rich  in  native  endowment, 
and  whose  best  wealth  is  elicited  by  contact  with  natui'al  greatness. 
The  most  timiultuous  spirits  have  greatest  need  of  repose,  and  with 
keenest  relish  enjoy  the  placid  and  quiet  feelings  which  belong  pecu- 
liarly to  a  lake  —  "  as  a  body  of  still  water  under  the  influence  of  no 
current ;  reflecting  therefore  the  cloutls,  the  hght,  and  all  the  imagery 
of  the  sky  and  surrounding  hUls  ;  exi)ressing  also  and  making  visible 
the  changes  of  the  atmosphere,  and  motions  of  the  lightest  breeze, 
and  subject  to  agitation  only  from  the  winds — ■ 


S  C  E  N  E  R  Y      A  N  D       MIND.  31 

"  The  visible  scene 
Would  enter  unawares  into  his  mind 
With  all  its  solemn  iniajforv,  its  rocks, 
Its  woods,  and  that  imcortain  heaven  received 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  staidy  lake ! " 

One  cannot  easily  walk  unmoved  where  water,  fresli  from  infum- 
tain-springs,  "  dotli  make  sweet  music  witli  tli'  enamell'd  stones,"  and 
verdant  islands  float  far  out  on  a  surface  resembling  molten  silver, 
thus  aftbrding  the  most  enchauting  objects  to  the  excursive  view. 
Around  this  central  mirror,  prone  to  the  dazzling  sun,  let  shrubbery 
and  trees  wave  to  the  touch  of  zej)liyrs,  terraces  display  their  tangled 
beauties,  fields  and  gardens,  studded  with  elegant  villas,  swell  towards 
bleak  hills,  surmounted  by  peerless  and  brilliant  Aljjs,  all  magnificently 
repeated  in  the  limpid  wave  below,  and  you  have  the  bright  summer 
scene  which  glows  from  the  bosom  of  Leman  in  the  foreground  of 
Mont  Blanc,  and  renders  supremely  beautiful  the  sacred  solitude  so 
delightful  at  Lucerne.  AVatt  l)otanized  on  the  fragrant  l>anks  of  Loch 
Lomond,  and  fortified  his  severer  studies  by  the  rugged  majesty  of  the 
Grampians.  Haller,  Zimmermann,  and  Lavater,  sunk  many  a  sorrow 
in  the  lake  around  Zurich,  and  Gibbon  wrought  out  his  mighty  task 
under  the  lofty  inspiration  enjoyed  at  Lausanne.  The  product  and 
proof  of  this  jiotency  are  signalized  iu  the  memorable  passage,  where 
he  describes  the  close  of  his  vast  undertaking :  "  I  have  presumed  to 
mark  the  moment  of  conception,  (amid  the  ruins  of  Rome)  ;  I  shall 
now  commemorate  the  hour  of  my  final  deliverance.  It  ^^'as  on  the 
day,  or  rather  night,  of  the  27th  June,  1787,  between  the  hours  of 
eleven  and  twelve,  that  I  wrote  the  last  lines  of  the  last  i^age,  in  a 
summer-house  in  my  garden.  After  laying  down  my  pen,  I  took 
several  turns  in  a  covered  walk  of  acacias,  which  commands  a  prospect 


32  S  C  K  N  E  R  Y      A  N  D       MIND. 

of  tlie  country,  the  lake,  and  the  mountains.  The  air  was  temperate, 
the  sky  Tvas  serene,  the  silver  orb  of  the  moon  was  reflected  uj^ou  the 
waters,  and  all  Nature  was  silent.  I  Mill  not  dissemUe  the  first  emo- 
tions of  joy  on  the  recovery  of  my  freedom,  and  ])erhaps  the  establish- 
ment of  my  fame." 

Fountains,  brooks,  and  livei-s,  im^iart  some  of  the  fairest  aspects  to 
the  landscape,  and  stamp  many  A^aluable  impressions  on  the  mind.  If 
the  sea  most  abounds  in  that  salt  which  seasons  substantial  and  endur- 
ing thought,  those  streams,  however  small,  which  connect  the  remotest 
island  thei'ewith,  are  not  entirely  devoid  of  like  power.  It  would 
seem  that  a  sagacious  love  of  nature  was  the  true  Egeria  who  taught 
wisdom  to  Numa  in  the  grotto.  "V\Taen  he  worshiped  the  njTnph  at 
the  fountain,  and  Narcissus  fell  in  love  with  his  own  reflection  in  the 
water,  they  appear  to  have  made  that  element  necessary  in  the  loves 
of  all  minds  tenderly  or  profoundly  moved.  Petrarch  sung  of  it  at 
the  source  of  the  Sorgue,  Vaucluse,  and  by  the  rushing  Rhone  at 
A-vngnon.  Rousseau  celebrated  its  inspiring  influence  in  the  I'ural 
haunts  he  most  loved ;  and  Byron  prolonged  the  strain  over  almost 
eveiy  renowned  sea,  lake,  liver,  and  fountain  of  the  world.  "  ^AHiere 
a  spring  rises  or  a  liver  flows,"  said  Seneca,  "  there  should  we  build 
altars  and  ofl'er  sacrifices," — an  impulse  which  has  been  felt  by  the  best 
hearts  of  every  age.  A  thousand  charms  gather  around  one  of  those 
little  currents  of  "  loosened  silver  "  that  sing  along  the  mossy  channel, 
or  leap  down  craggy  heights,  over  Avhicli  trees  throw  their  protecting 
arms  and  iml)ilje  grateful  spi'ay.  I  low  invigorating,  with  angle  and 
Ijook,  or  all  alone  with  one's  own  thoughts,  to  trace  the  wild  Init  glad- 
some oftsprmg  of  the  liills,  now  contracted  by  gloomy  firs  and  half  lost 
in  dark  ravines, —  now  sparkling  from  the  deepest  shadow,  ])roken 
into  dimples  and  bounding  to  the  sun, —  anon  sweeping  wild  flowt-rs  to 
its  bosom,  anil  with  aiigniented  wave  washing  the  gnarled  and  spread- 


SCENERY      AND      MIND.  33 

iug  roots  whicli  jut  out  liere  aud  there  from  impeuding  banks,  witli 
fringes  of  di-ipping  weeds, —  aud  finally  losiug  its  tributary  beauty  in 
a  mightier  stream.  "  Laugli  of  the  Mountain,"  is  the  title  given  to  a 
brook  by  a  Spanish  poet ;  and  Bryant  is  not  less  ha})py  in  character- 
izing this  fail-  feature  of  the  world. 

"  The  rivubt 
Sends  fortli  glad  sounds,  and  tripinng  o'er  its  bed 
Of  pebbly  sands,  or  leaping  down  tbe  rocks, 
Seems,  -with  continuous  laugbter,  to  rejoice 
In  its  own  being." 

The  chief  rivers  of  every  clime  have  ever  furnished  the  favorite 
themes-  of  leading  minds.  Daiius  was  so  charmed  with  the  river 
Tearus,  that  he  commemorated  his  attachment  by  erecting  a  votive 
column  on  its  brink.  Where  rolled  Ilyssus,  was  the  best  school 
of  Athens  ;  and  on  the  shores  of  Arno  and  Cam,  Milton  acquired  his 
best  training  and  enjoyed  the  happiest  life  ;  as  did  Thompson,  thi-dled 
with  the  murmurs  of  the  Jed.  The  philosoj^hers  of  Shiraz  comjiosed 
their  most  celebrated  works  near  the  shores  of  the  Rochnabad  ;  while 
by  the  sacred  Ganges,  near  Benares,  erudite  teachers  instruct  their 
pupils,  after  the  manner  of  Plato,  walking  in  theu*  gardens.  Aufidus, 
the  Tiber,  aud  the  Po,  had  their  respective  admirers  in  Horace,  VirgU, 
and  Ovid,  and  the  reader  need  not  be  told  that  all  tongues  unite 
to  celebrate  the  Rhine.  Calimachus  has  immortahzed  the  beautiful 
waters  of  the  Inachus,  while  the  Miucio  aud  the  Tagus  boast  their 
Boccacio  and  Camoens;  and  the  lovers  of  English  letters  know  full 
well  that  the  Severn,  Trent,  Avon,  Derwent,  Dee,  and  Thames,  have 
been  distinguished  by  the  praises  of  the  mightiest  pens. 

Modern  literature,  the  production  of  northern  regions,  is  imbued 
with  a  wild  and  romantic  element  strongly  distinguished  fi'om  the 
5 


34  SCENEKYAND      JIIND. 

severe  simplicity  of  tlie  classic  soutli.  This  contivost  has  its  counter- 
part, and  much  of  its  producing  cause,  in  tlie  characteristic  scenery 
of  its  origin.  In  old  Greece,  the  lovely  climate  had  just  A-icissitudes 
enougli  to  impress  a  happy  variety  on  the  experience  and  coinage  of 
mind ;  while  their  free  institutions,  and  the  deep  wisdom  of  their  phi- 
losophers, conduced  towards  the  production  of  those  imperishable 
monuments  of  grandeur  and  beauty  before  which  the  genius  of 
humanity  still  reverently  bends.  But  England,  and  the  kindi-ed 
regions  of  Germany,  have  in  theii-  less  favored  climates  a  depth  of 
gloom  which  is  known  to  characterize  the  northern  spirit,  in  which 
external  nature  is  admirably  harmonious  with  the  intellectual  struc- 
ture, by  its  influence  thereupon  eliciting  the  noblest  eiforts.  The 
literature  of  a  country  is  truly  national,  just  so  far  as  it  beare  upon 
it  the  stamp  of  national  character.  Among  the  external  causes  which 
tend  to  create  this  exalted  type  of  individuality,  natural  scenery  and 
climate  are  undoubtedly  the  most  ob^dous.  The  features  of  their 
native  landscape  give  form  and  color  to  the  thoughts  and  words  of 
all  creative  minds.  For  instance,  through  the  living  speech,  and  over 
the  speaking  page  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  and  Anglo-American  race,  one 
can  easily  recognize  the  daily  vicissitudes  and  fluctuating  seasons, — 
those  tints  and  hues  of  vernal  beauty,  summer  promise,  autumnal 
wealth,  and  wdntry  desolation, —  those  dimly  shrouding  mists  whit'li 
alternate  with  biilliant  light, —  and  which  render  objects  more  lovely 
and  harmonious  to  those  who  realize  the  iuAasible  and  perceive  the 
spiritual,  who  unite  all  worlds  in  the  comprehensive  grasp  of  their 
imagination,  and  thus  substantiate  in  effectiA-e  use  that  which  to  otliers 
is  only  shadowy  and  remote. 

As  is  the  scenery,  so  are  national  letters  and  works  of  art.  We 
children  of  mists,  clouds,  woods,  darkening  tempests,  and  weeping 
rain,  produce  and  prefer  the  beauty  of  mystery  and  indetiuiteness,  in 


SCENERY      AND       MIND.  35 

otlier  words,  romantic  beauty.  If  we  would  cultivate  a  keeu  pleasui'e 
iu  definite  beauty,  as  it  is  seen  in  Homeric  literature,  and  as  it  stood 
mightily  exemplified  in  the  severely  gorgeous  splendor  of  tlie  Acropo- 
lis, we  must  transport  om-  mind  at  least,  if  not  our  person,  to  otlier 
climes.  There  we  may  best  emulate  the  consummate  excellence  which 
results  from  the  coalescence  of  alacrity  with  depth,  and  which  was 
most  happily  impressed  upon  the  language  Plato  spoke,  and  in  the 
symmetry  which  still  survives  in  the  fragmentary  Propylsea  and 
Olpnjjeiou.  But  if  we  would  behold  at  once  combined  the  definite 
beauty,  shapely  vastness,  instantaneously  recognised  unity,  and  cheer- 
ful grandeur,  most  characteristic  of  the  scenery,  Uterature,  and  art  of 
an  immortal  land,  let  us  for  a  moment  glance  at  the  magnificent  pano- 
rama, as  seen  from  the  lofty  terrace  through  the  golden-hued  colon- 
nades of  the  Pai'thenon.  Linger  here  a  while  till  the  eye  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  scene,  and  imagination  is  able  to  refit  the  mutilated 
forms,  and  you  will  easily  understand  the  spirit  of  the  old  religion, 
and  its  consecrated  works.  "  Tliere  is  no  mixtm'e  of  light  and  shade, 
no  half-conceahng,  half-revealing,  as  in  the  symboHcal  cathedi-als  of 
the  Christian  faith.  There  are  no  rays  of  divine  darkness  running 
alongside  of  the  rays  of  light,  and  sinking  into  the  ground  beneath 
the  altar  of  the  East.  All  is  open  to  the  unbounded  blue  ether  above 
and  the  vertical  rays  of  a  noonday  sun,  and  the  trembling  visitations 
of  the  unimpeded  moonbeams,  a  very  house  of  light,  imstained  by 
painted  glass,  imdarkened  by  vaulted  roofs,  unintercepted  by  columns 
and  arcades,  and  with  the  iastantaneous  perception  of  unity  mimarred 
by  the  cruciform  shape."  Who  can  ever  forget  the  electrical  effect 
produced  when  first  beholding  the  blue  sky  between  the  columns  of  a 
classic  ruin  ?  The  shape,  the  tallness,  which  makes  the  space  seem 
narrow,  the  straight  hard  line  Avhich  renders  the  perfect  contour  so 
definite,  all  startle  the  eye  with  its  firm  and  stable  symmetry,  even 


36  SCENEKTAND      MIND. 

after  one  has  been  long  accustomed  to  tlie  reverently  swerving  lines 
of  a  cathedral,  and  to  the  hold  and  trustful  curve  of  the  Gothic  arch, 
throwing  itself  from  pillar  to  pillar,  with  its  segmental  circle,  like  the 
unfolding  of  Christian  truth  here  below,  whose  perfect  whole  is  in 
heaven. 

The  mental  creations  of  central  Europe,  and  the  still  more  roman- 
tic regions  of  the  noi'th,  are  equally  characterized  by  an  indefiniteness 
exactly  comporting  with  the  asj^ects  and  temperature  of  the  material 
kingdoms  ai'ound.  The  human  soul,  thirsting  after  unmensity,  immu- 
tabihty,  and  imbounded  duration,  needs  some  tangible  object  from 
which  to  take  its  flight, —  some  point  whence  to  soar  from  the  present 
into  the  futm-e,  from  the  hmited  to  the  iafinite, —  and  is  hkely  to  be 
most  vigorous  in  its  capacity  and  productions  where  such  fecUities 
most  abound.  Mere  space,  contemplated  under  the  dome  of  heaven, 
prostrates,  rather  than  sustaias,  the  mind ;  but  Alpine  heights,  seen  at 
a  glance  where  earth  and  sky  mingle,  constitute  the  quickening  and 
fortifying  regions  where  mundane  understanding  and  celestial  imagi- 
nation most  happily  blend  in  the  suggestion  of  thoughts  such  as  com- 
mon language  never  expressed.  Deep  caverns,  contracted  lakes,  pro- 
jecting crags,  impending  avalanches,  and  ghttering  pinnacles,  which 
rise  in  serene  majesty  till  they  are  lost  in  mist  and  cloud,  rolling  over 
their  summits  like  the  waves  of  ocean,  realize  pi'os])ects  which  seem  to 
conduct  the  coutemplator  from  this  to  another  world.  The  magnifi- 
cence thus  poured  on  the  mind  natm-ally  imbues  its  faculties,  and  will 
be  reproduced  in  hving  speech,  or  for  ever  glow  from  a  graphic  pen. 
The  sohtude  seems  holy  where  every  grand  feature  constitutes  a 
hymn,  and  a  sublime  melancholy  impresses  itself  ujion  the  thoughtful 
soul. 

Northern  legends  and  a])])ariti(^ns  jiai'take  nuich  more  of  the 
spiiitual   and    infinite   than   did    the   s^lvan   deities   and   senii-linnian 


S  C  E  N  E  It  Y      A  N  D       MIND.  37 

mythology  of  tlie  classic  South  ;  and  modern  romance,  with  its  pre- 
vailing gloom  and  indefinite  character,  is  much  more  appalling  than 
the  sunny  and  social  personifications  which  antiquity  produced.  The 
natm-al  phenomena  which  abound  in  a  wild,  uncultivated  country, 
powerfully  conspire  to  create  the  illusions  of  fancy  which  so  much 
modify  reason's  severest  works.  The  preternatural  appearances  com- 
monly said  to  occur  in  the  German  mountains  and  Scottish  highlands, 
whose  lofty  summits  and  unreclaimed  valleys  are  shrouded  with  tem- 
pestuous clouds,  may  be  exjalained  on  the  same  philosophical  princi^^le, 
whence  the  most  potent  local  inspiration  is  derived.  That  which  is 
strongly  felt,  is  not  only  easily  seen,  but  as  easily  believed ;  and  an 
appetite  for  the  marvellous,  constantly  excited,  is  made  keen  to  detect 
and  multiply  visions  and  prognostics,  until  each  heath  or  glen  has  its 
unearthly  visitants,  each  family  its  omen,  each  hut  its  boding  spectre, 
and  superstition,  systematized  into  a  science,  is  expounded  by  wizards 
and  gifted  seers.  The  character  of  a  primitive  mythology,  mingling 
more  or  less  with  the  best  literature  of  a  nation,  is  always  intimately 
connected  with  that  of  the  scenery  and  climate  in  which  it  arose. 
Thus  the  graceful  Nymj)hs  and  Naiads  of  Greece ;  the  Peris  of  Persia, 
gay  as  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  odorous  as  flowers  ;  the  Fairies 
of  England,  who  in  aiiy  circles  "  dance  theii-  ringlets  to  the  whistling 
wind,"  have  forms  and  functions  delicate  and  beautiful,  like  the  coun- 
tries in  which  they  dwell ;  while  "  the  Elves,  Bogles,  Brownies,  and 
Kelpies,  which  seem  to  have  legitimately  descended,  in  ancient  High- 
land verse,  from  the  ScandinaA-ian  Dvergar,  Nisser,  tfec,  are  of  a  stunted 
and  malignant  aspect,  and  are  celebrated  for  nothing  better  than 
maiming  cattle,  bewildering  the  benighted  traveller,  and  conjuring  out 
the  souls  of  newborn  infants." 

It  is  an  occasion  for  special  gratitude  to  God  that  there  are  yet 
wild  spots  and  wildernesses  left,  unstained  fountains  and  virgin  hills, 


38  SCENERYAND      MIND. 

wliere  avarice  has  little  dominion,  and  whence  thought  may  take  the 
widest  range.  These  exercise  analogous  power  over  the  popular  miud, 
furnish  the  purest  stimulus  to  noble  exertion,  and  have  ever  developed 
the  strongest  patriotism,  inteusest  energy",  and  most  valuable  letters  of 
the  world.  So  far  as  we  can  derive  capacities  from  inanimate  things, 
and  be  impelled  T)y  the  activities  which  depend  on  place,  mountains, 
moors,  forests  and  i-ocky  shores,  are  the  locahties  most  favorable  for 
vigorous  and  prolific  life.  The  language  we  speak,  and  the  glorious 
hteratm-e  it  has  preserved,  are  the  accumulated  products  and  historical 
proof  of  this.  When  the  Saxons  were  called  in  as  friends  and  alhes 
by  the  Romanized  Britons,  they  assembled  in  great  numbers  with  their 
king  Hengist,  during  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries  of  the  Chiistiau  era, 
and  Englaud  continued  to  be  peopled  by  them.  But  instead  of  fi'iends 
they  soon  became  masters,  and  the  ancient  inhabitants,  the  Britons, 
disappeared;  after  which,  the  Saxon  tongue,  laws,  government,  and 
manners  soon  overspread  the  laud ;  so  that  it  may  literally  be  said, 
"  the  British  constitution  came  out  of  the  woods  of  Germany." 

The  real  and  ideal  are  most  closely  allied  in  the  grandest  creations 
of  nature  and  the  finest  conceptions  of  miuel.  Although  hoary  clifis 
and  soaring  heights  are  among  the  most  palpable  facts  of  earth,  it  is 
on  them  that  we  always  seem  to  be  most  in  the  domain  of  fancj".  It 
is  impossible  to  overstate  oui-  indebtedness  to  those  gigantic  distm'ban- 
ces  of  the  solid  globe,  by  which  mountains,  with  all  theu-  accompani- 
ments of  wild  and  rugged  features,  were  upheaved,  and  substituted,  in 
bold  and  i)ictures(pie  beauty,  for  dead  level  plains.  Without  this 
contrast  of  expressive  objects,  earth  would  liave  told  out  little  of  those 
sublime  truths,  of  which  now  every  hill  is  a  prophet,  every  stone  a 
book.  The  ancients  frequently  erected  temples  and  statues  to  the 
genius  of  the  place;  and  these  were  often  in  retired  localities,  like 
lero,  the  saci-ed  city  of  yEscula|iins,  (>ceu]iying  a  inountain-hollnw,  the 


S  C  E  N  E  K  Y      A  N  D       MIND.  39 

most  secluded  in  Greece.  According  to  Pliuy,  his  countrpiieu,  too, 
felt  that  Minerva,  as  well  as  Diana,  inhabits  the  forests.  Among  the 
woods  of  Etruria,  the  great  lawgiver  and  ruler  to  whom  Home  was 
under  greater  obligations  than  to  Romulus,  sought  refuge  from  the 
cares  that  attended  the  government  of  a  tm'bulent  but  growing  nation, 
and  was  the  first  pagan  sovereign  ever  inspii'ed  to  erect  a  fane  to  Peace 
and  Faith.  Akenside  finely  alludes  to  the  sacred  awe,  with  which  the 
wilderness  and  hidden  dells,  stretching  along  the  acclivities  of  a  high 
mountain,  are  contemplated  by  persons  of  refined  imagination  : 

"  Mark  the  sable  -n-oods, 
That  shade  sublime  yon  mountiiin's  nodding  brow. 
With  what  religious  awe  the  solemn  scene 
Commands  yoiu'  steps  !    as  if  the  reverend  form 
Of  Minos,  or  of  Numa,  should  foreake 
Th'  Elysian  seats ;  and  down  the  embowering  glade 
Move  to  yom-  pausing  eye." 

"WHien  we  meditate  in  plains,  the  globe  appears  youthful  and 
imbecile  ;  among  crags  and  mountains,  it  exhibits  energy  and  the 
gravity  of  age.  AIL  primitive  aspects  indicate  a  deep  solemnity,  and 
generate  invincible  power.  We  feel  the  spirit  of  the  universe  upon 
us,  and  are  not  surprised  that  when  the  shepherd  in  Vii-gil  sought 
Love,  he  found  him  a  native  of  the  rocks.  Traces  of  the  di\anity 
most  abound  in  localities  apart  from  throng-s  of  mankind,  where  one 
can  best  establish  the  equilibrium  of  the  soul  by  that  of  solitude,  feel- 
ing a  life  on  the  surface  of  things  and  eternity  in  their  depths.  Natm"e 
sheds  much  of  a  supernatural  influence  around  the  superior  souls,  con- 
stituted in  harmony  -^Hth  herself  Physical  elements  become  plastic  in 
the  hands  of  such,  and  receive  an  impression  not  less  brilliant  than 


40  S  C  E  N  E  R  Y     A  N  D      MIND. 

euduriiig.  Tlieir  miud  is  made  to  act  as  a  prism,  under  wliose  influence 
the  simplest  elements  assume  tLe  most  exquisite  combination  of  hues  ; 
and  thus  inanimate  kingdoms  and  artificial  lessons  are  converted  into 
golden  visions  of  thought  and  feeling.  Form,  color,  light  and  shade 
are  attendant  handmaids,  ever  ready  to  impart  a  graceful  and  peren- 
nial utterance  to  the  sublimest  conceptions,  and  adorn  rugged  strength 
with  charms  more  real  and  captivating  than  that  of  words. 

This  is  as  often  verified  in  art  as  in  literature.  Hogarth  began  life 
a  silver-engraver.  Chantry  a  wood-carver,  and  Raeburn  a  goldsmith  ; 
but  ruled  by  the  love  fed  in  early  intercourse  with  nature,  theii'  com'se 
was  changed,  and  each  was  matm-ed  in  his  pecuhar  department  of 
excellence.  Eomney,  when  but  a  child,  studied  coloring  before  the 
rainbow,  the  purple  perspective  and  gleaming  lake  ;  he  took  his  fii'st 
lessons  in  composition  through  wild  woods,  fruitful  valleys,  and  over 
the  loftiest  mountains  within  reach.  Mortimer  with  strongest  impulse 
studied  the  sea,  chafed  and  foaming,  fit  "  to  swallow  navigation  uj")," 
with  ships  driven  before  tempests,  or  strown  in  ruin.  These,  passion- 
ately seen  and  felt,  gave  him  a  skilful  artistic  hand.  Richard  Cosway 
was  first  kindled  with  a  love  for  j^ainting  by  a  chance  glance  at  two 
])icturesque  works  from  Rubens,  at  Tiverton  ;  and  a  beautiful  piece  of 
Avood  is  still  shown  in  Suffolk,  where  the  ancient  trees,  winding  glades, 
and  sunny  nooks,  inspired  Gainsborough  with  the  love  of  art.  Thence 
he  emerged  the  first  landscape  painter  of  his  age.  A  few  prints,  illus- 
trative of  INIichael  Angelo's  genius,  found  in  his  fether's  library,  and 
conned  beneath  gnarled  oaks,  made  the  enthusiastic  FusiH  a  master  in 
his  way ;  and  a  perusal  of  "  The  Jesuit's  Perspective,"  when  only  eight 
years  old,  led  an  observant  youth  into  the  open  fields,  and  ])re])ared 
the  way  for  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  to  become  the  highest  model  and 
most  elegant  teacher  of  British  art.  It  is  well  known  that  Salvator 
Rosa  once  resided  with  a  band  of  robl)ers,  and  that  tlie  iiii})ressions 


SOEKERYAND      MIND.  41 

received  from  tlie  rocks,  caves,  dens,  and  momitains  tljey  iuhaliited, 
gave  a  decided  tone  and  direction  to  his  taste.  His  original  bent  M-as 
tlius  so  strongly  developed,  that  he  loved  rather  to  stand  on  the  ruins 
of  nature,  than  to  admire  her  soft  and  beautifid  condjinations  ;  hence 
his  imagination  became  daring  and  impetuous,  his  pencil  rugged  and 
sublime,  from  prolific  sources  armed  to  throw  a  savage  grandeur  over 
all  his  -works.  Claude  Lorraiu,  on  the  contrary,  spent  his  hapj^iest 
days  in  sunny  scenes,  where  the  earth  was  enamelled  with  flowers,  and 
heaven's  mild  radiance  beamed  perpetually  on  his  brow.  He  early 
learned  to  mix  a  pallet  of  colors  from  every  realm  of  beauty,  and  all 
his  pictures  teem  with  loveliness  and  peace. 

In  a  fine  picture,  as  in  a  favorite  l)ook,  it  is  easy  to  identify  what 
we  behold  with  the  life  of  the  author ;  and  probably  we  shall  trace 
his  first  impressions  in  the  peculiarity  of  his  style,  as  well  as  in  the 
general  tenor  of  his  thoughts.  Milton  found  his  most  genial  inspira- 
tion amidst  the  embowered  lawns  of  Valloml)rosa ;  Gray  was  pei'ma- 
nently  benefited  by  the  solitude  of  the  Chartreuse  ;  and  Johnson 
never  rose  higher  in  refined  sentiment,  than  on  the  sea-beaten  rock  of 
lona.  To  the  great  bard  of  Paradise  Lost,  natm'e  ever  imparted  a 
clear  and  steady  light,  shining  brightly  through  the  storms  of  tumul- 
tuous life,  and  kindling  up,  when  aU  else  was  dark,  a  lustre  worthy  of 
Eden  in  its  first  bloom.  Shakspeare  possessed  the  most  intense  fond- 
ness for  natural  beauty,  and  displayed  it  in  all  his  works.  "  Images  of 
rural  scenes  are  for  ever  floating  on  his  mind,  and  there  Ls  scarce  an 
object,  from  the  lofty  mountain  to  the  sequestered  valley,  from  the 
dark  tempest  to  the  gray  dawn  and  placid  moonlight,  from  di-eary 
winter  to  warm  and  fragrant  spring,  that  he  has  not  depicted  ;  gentle 
aii's,  and  mm-muring  rUls,  and  sequestered  groves,  are  features  as 
prominent  in  his  dramas,  as  the  beings  that  haunt  them ;  the  vo\\-s 
of  love  become  indeed   silver  soft  as  they  are  whis]iered  bv  night 


42  SCENERY     AND      MIND. 

among  pomegranate  groves  ;  life  is  more  sweet  among  trees,  and 
stones,  and  running  brooks,  afar  fi-om  public  haunts ;  the  gentle  boy 
sleeps  more  fitly  among  embowering  woods,  watched  by  fairy  forms, 
and  sung  to  rest  by  the  du-ge  of  affection."  Like  Milton,  Shakspeare 
seems  to  have  dwelt  with  sincerest  pleasure  on  the  peaceful  images  of 
rural  hfe,  and  no  one  familiar  Avith  his  history  and  thoughts  can  be 
surprised  that,  as  soon  as  he  was  enabled  to  escape  from  the  artificial- 
ness  of  metropolitan  hfe,  he  hastened  to  spend  the  evening  of  his 
existence  among  the  fpiiet  hills  and  vales  where  in  careless  youth  he 
had  wandered,  gathering  mnumerable  germs  of  the  richest  and  most 
magnificent  thoughts.  Sir  Walter  Scott's  great  art  lay  in  exact  de- 
scriptions of  nature  and  of  character,  a  facility  attained  by  the  con- 
stant ])ursuit  of  some  piece  of  striking  scenery,  or  in  Avatching  the 
spontaneous  exhibition  of  unsophisticated  character.  Fancy  was  re- 
sorted to  only  for  filling  wp  the  interstices,  or  supjjlyiug  vacancies  in 
the  originals  Avhich  nature  furnished.  In  youth,  he  read  IIool's  Tasso 
and  Percy's  Eehques  of  ancient  poetry,  beneath  a  huge  platauus  tree, 
within  the  ruins  of  an  old  arbor  near  Kelso,  the  most  beautiful  and 
romantic  \Tllage  in  Scotland.  In  fidl  view  lay  the  Tweed  and  the 
TeAdot,  both  famous  rivers,  the  ancient  castles  of  Roxburgh  and  a 
ruined  abbey,  with  the  modern  mansion  of  Fleurs,  a  landscape  so 
situated  as  to  coml)ine  the  ideas  of  ancient  baronial  splendor  with 
those  of  modern  taste.  These  were  \4AHdly  associated  with  the  grand 
features  of  the  scene  around  the  young  ol)server ;  and  the  histoiical 
iucidents,  or  traditional  legends  connected  Avith  them,  gave  to  his  im- 
passioned soul  an  intense  reverence  for  ancient  ruins  and  chivalrous 
entei'piise.  Thenceforth  his  faculties  were  all  awake,  and  Htted  tor 
tlicir  work ;  giving  to  every  field  its  battle,  and  to  every  rivulet  its 
song.  A  true  man's  productions  everywhere  are  the  ty])es  ot  Ins 
mind,  and    ti\ral   tlic  st-enes  and   circumstances  of  his  earlv  trannng. 


SCENERY     AND      MIND.  43 

Edimiiid  Burke  grew  up  encompassed  by  tlie  gorgeous  scenery  around 
the  castle  of  Kileobuau ;  and  his  great  living  successor  in  Parliament, 
Shell,*  gathei'ed  the  best  energies  of  his  eloquence  near  the  fine  woods 
of  Faithley,  and  the  noble  seat  of  the  Bolton  family,  when  the  sullen 
roar  of  the  ocean  used  to  come  over  the  hills  to  greet  his  youth,  under 
the  shadow  of  Dimbrody  Abbey  in  ruins,  whei'e  the  Nore  and  the 
Barrow  met  in  a  deep  and  splendid  conflux  with  his  native  Suir.  The 
minds  of  these  great  men  were  the  ti'anscripts  of  the  first  scenes  they 
loved ;  and  it  is  most  pertinent  to  this  theme  to  remind  the  reader 
that  one,  perhaps  greater  than  they,  the  master  statesman  and  orator 
of  his  age,  was  cradled  in  the  rugged  bosom  of  Alpine  New  Hamp- 
shire, where  all  is  cool,  colossal,  sublime. 

On  a  flowery  morning  of  spring,  or  in  the  stillness  of  a  clear  au- 
tumnal night, — ^in  summer  fruitfulness  or  wintry  desolation, — we  feel, 
if  we  do  not  hear,  the  rusliing  of  that  stream  of  life,  which  from  Orion 
flows  down  to  the  very  heart  of  earth.  Hence  the  declaration  of 
Bui'us, — "  There  is  scarcely  any  earthly  object  gives  me  more — I  do 
not  know  how  I  should  call  it  'pleasure — but  something  which  exalts 
me — something  which  enraptures  me — than  to  walk  in  the  sheltered 
side  of  the  wood,  or  high  plantation,  in  a  cloudy  winter-day,  and  hear 
the  stormy  wind  howling  among  the  trees,  and  roaring  over  the  plain. 
It  is  my  best  season  for  devotion."  Campbell,  too,  coiuled  the 
heath-clad  wilderness — "  bleak — lifeless — and  broken  into  numberless 
glens — strewn  with  rocks — and  scantily  clothed  with  copse-wood ; 
from  the  dusky  covert  of  which  he  could  observe  the  wUd  deer  darting 
forth  at  intervals  and  again  vanishing  in  a  deejier  and  more  distant 
shade.  Bold  rocks,  fringed  with  wild  flowers,  rising  in  huge  and  often 
grotesque  masses  through  the  purple  heath  ;    streams  and  toi'i'ents 

*  Wiile  these  sheets  .oi'e  passuig  tbi-ougli  the  press,  news  is  received  of  the  death  of  this 
eminent  iiiau. 


44  S  C  E  N  E  R  Y      A  N  B       MIND. 

\\iii(liiiL;'  pciicctull}-  througli  tlie  deep  grassy  glens,  or  dasliiug,  in  clouds 
of  spray,  over  some  rugged  precipice  ;  the  slirill  })ipe  of  the  curlew — 
the  blithe  carol  of  the  lark  over  head — the  bleating  of  the  goats  from 
the  stee]i  pastoral  acclivities — the  scream  of  the  eagle  from  his  eyiie 
in  the  rocks  f — these  were  the  sights  and  sounds  which  enlivened  his 
rambles  and  supplied  his  -woi-tli.  The  youth  of  Byron  ^-as  spent 
mainly  on  the  sea-shore,  the  heaths,  and  the  hills,  of  the  Doric  north  ; 
and  when  more  secluded  in  Newstead  Abbey,  the  recollections  of 
childhood  moulded  his  first  song. 

"  Wlieii  I  roved,  a  3'oung  liighlalider,  o'er  tlie  dark  heath, 
And  dimL'd  thy  steep  summit,  O  Morven  !  of  snow ; 
To  gaze  on  the  torrent  that  tliuuder'd  beucatli, 
Or  the  mist  of  the  tempest  that  gathcrVl  below." 

(iladsoiiie  wanderings  in  the  sunshine  among  the  hills,  enlivened 
by  melodious  waters  and  the  song  of  birds,  the  changeful  aspects  of 
fields  and  woods,  gleamings  of  the  far-ofi:'  sea,  and  mountains  piercing 
through  clouds  a  pathway  to  the  skies, — this  is  the  pai'ailise  of  all 
minds  iiobl}'  endowed,  and  not  yet  entirely  debased.  It  is  when  thus 
environed  and  exercised  that  lofty  impulses  are  kindled  in  genial  blood. 
Thus  was  felt  and  expressed  the  grandeur,  beauty,  pathos,  dazzling 
light  and  freezing  gloom  which  mingled  in  the  memories  of  Childe 
1  Ian  lid.     lie  had  profoundly  experienced  the  truth  that, 

"  To  sit  on  rocks,  to  miisc  o'or  flood  and  fi'll, 
'I'd  slowly  trae<>  the  forest's  shady  scene, 
WliiTc  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell, 
And  mortal  foot  hath  nc'i'r  or  rar.-ly  been; 
To  climb  the  trackless  nmuiitain  all  unseen. 
With  the  wild  flock  that  ne\er  needs  a  fold; 
Alone  o'er  stee]is  and  foaming  falls  to  lean  ; 
This  is  not  solitude;  'tis  but  to  hold 
Coiiveisc  with  Nature's  charm-;,  and  view  her  stores  unroH'd." 


SCENERY     AND      MIND.  45 

We  liave  purposely  avoided  copious  reference  to  American 
scenery,  artists  and  authors,  as  corroborative  of  tlie  positions  assumed 
in  the  foregoing  disquisition.  "We  know  something  of  the  pictorial 
illustrations  so  admirably  executed  for  this  work,  and  would  gladly 
allude  to  the  diversified  aspects  characteristic  of  art,  literature,  and 
scenery  in  our  land.  But  that  department  has  been  assigned  to  other 
and  abler  pens.  Our  specific  task  will  conclude  with  a  remark  or  two 
on  the  relation  which  nature  sustains  to  religion,  as  au  auxiliary  in  the 
highest  cultm-e  of  mmd. 

What  scene  is  more  simple,  or  more  subhme,  than  the  vast  solitude 
of  untainted  nature,  cast  in  a  fresh  yet  giant  mould,  a  silent  and  mighty 
temple  of  the  great  God,  wherein  the  pure  spirit  of  love  reigns  and 
smiles  over  all  ?  Pilgrimages  were  made  to  the  oalcs  of  Mamre,  near 
Hebron,  from  the  time  of  Abraham  to  that  of  Constautine  ;  and  the 
nations  sm-rounding  the  divinely  favored  tribes  conspired  to  attach  the 
idea  of  veneration  to  rivers  and  fountains,  and  were  accustomed  not 
only  to  dedicate  trees  and  groves  to  their  deities,  but  ever  to  sacrifice 
on  high  mountains  :  customs  which  were  practised  by  the  Jews  them- 
selves, pre\'ious  to  the  building  of  Solomon's  temple.  The  beginning 
of  wisdom  was  among  the  wilds  of  Asia,  and  it  was  there  that  the  God 
of  nature  implanted  grand  ideas  in  the  minds  of  shepherds  meditating 
on  those  antique  plains  and  heights,  teaching  them  to  wonder  and 
adore.  As  the  loftiest  mountains  are  sm-mounted  with  unsullied  snow, 
so  the  purest  sentiments  crowned  their  exalted  souls,  and  for  ever  ren- 
dered them  the  chief  source  of  fertilizing  streams  to  all  lands,  through 
every  region  of  thought. 

A  little  child  standing  under  the  heaven  bright  with  stars,  once 
asked  its  mother, — ^"  Dear  mother,  are  those  yonder  the  open  places, 
which  the  glory  of  God  shines  through  ? "  Those  were  the  old  heavens 
which   infancy  admu'ed,   and   they  yet  proclaim  the  glory  of  theu- 


46  SCENERY     AND      MIND. 

Maker  to  tlie  most  matured.  The  lilUs,  the  vales,  and  the  ocean,  have 
never  grown  old,  but  still  have  wonders  as  imiumeraLle  as  they  are 
lastmg.  Not  a  realm  of  nature  is  unfolded  to  our  gaze  that  does  not 
teem  with  beauties  and  sublimities  bearing  an  antiquity  more  ancient 
than  the  pvramids.  The  evening  breeze  is  yet  redolent  of  the  balm 
shfd  over  Canaan,  when  Isaac  went  forth  to  meditate.  Ziou's  hill  has 
survived  its  temple,  and  lifts  its  sacred  brow  to  the  same  sun  that 
shone  U2:)0u  Thermopylae,  and  is  swept  liy  the  same  wind  which  laid 
the  armaments  of  Xerxes  low.  The  rainbow  we  to-day  admire,  is  the 
same  that  was  bent  near  the  portal  of  the  Ark ;  and  the  mighty  rivers 
of  America  bear  with  their  billows  a  murmur  kindred  to  the  Nile,  as 
it  moved  the  bulrushes  of  Egypt  in  which  the  child  Moses  nestled, 
watched  over  Ijy  the  sisterly'  love  of  jNIiriam. 

To  holy  men  of  the  earlier  times,  the  exterior  and  interior  life  were 
brought  into  perfect  harmony,  so  as  to  produce  that  expansion  of  heart 
which  is  the  real  cause  that  makes  rural  existence  so  dehghtfid  to  men 
of  good  will :  for  so  sweet  is  it  to  them,  that  "  they  whose  vei-se  of 
yore  the  golden  age  recorded,  and  its  bliss  on  the  Parnassian  moun- 
tain," seem  to  have  foreseen  it  in  Arcadian  di'eams.  They  loved  clear 
waters,  aspiring  hills,  with  all  the  countless  forms  and  tones  which 
each  returning  spring  rejiroduced  more  fair  than  ever  to  theu'  growing 
appreciation.  Nature  prompted  pui'ifyiug  tears  in  theii"  eyes,  that 
they  might  trace  the  goodness  of  their  God  in  these  his  lower  works, 
wondering  not  that  tlie  Samai'itan  woman  should  have  recognized  and 
confessed  the  jNIessiah  at  the  fountain,  whom  Jewish  sages  knew  not  in 
the  temple.  The  fields  and  level  shores  were  by  them  connected  with 
religious  mysteries ;  for,  Jesus  standing  T)y  the  lake  of  Genesareth 
wlicu  tlic  iinillitu(h'  })ressed  upon  him,  the  two  boats  afloat  and  the 
occuj)ation  of  the  fishermen,  together  with  the  walk  through  the  corn 
with  the  disciples  on  the  Sabbatli,  wei'e  designed  to  make  such  an 


SCENERY      AND      MIND.  4*7 

impression,  that  one  should  never  enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature,  or  the 
recreations  of  a  country  life,  without  being  reminded  of  the  blessed 
Redeemer.  But  mountains  are  esjDecially  associated  with  religion 
thi'ough  the  remembrance  of  that  mount  whose  name  has  given  a 
universal  fame  to  the  jiale  verdure  of  the  olive,  from  that  of  Tabor, 
and  Sinai,  and  Ephraim,  which  fed  the  holy  Samuel.  We  read  in  the 
Iliad  that  Hector  sacrificed  on  the  top  of  Ida;  and  the  summits  of 
mountains  were  ever  selected,  not  only  Ijy  the  Greeks,  but  by  nations 
taught  direct  from  heaven,  as  the  most  appropriate  situations  whereon 
their  altars  should  stand.  It  was  on  mountains  that  the  only  true  God 
manifested  himself  to  the  Hebrews  of  old,  and  it  was  on  them  that  the 
tremendous  mysteiies  of  redemption  were  accomplished.  Connected 
with  these  grand  objects,  and  in  no  small  measure  by  them  insjiired, 
was  the  mighty  energy  which  sent  the  apostle  Paul  to  Mars  Hill, 
preaching  Jesus  and  the  resurrection ;  and  long  afterwards,  in  a  feebler 
degree,  impelled  Edward  Ir\-ing  to  roll  "  the  rich  thunders  of  his  awful 
voice,"  where  mute  thousands  stood  enraptured  amid  the  glories  of  the 
Frith  of  Forth. 

Persons  accustomed  to  ex]:)loi'e  the  ruins  of  religious  houses  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  scenery  peculiar  to  each,  ^vill  often  be  struck  with  the 
fact  that  the  several  orders  consulted  their  highest  happiness,  as  well 
as  greatest  good,  in  fixing  the  site  of  their  respective  foundations. 
Evidently,  mere  convenience,  or  I'etu-ement,  was  not  their  chief  aim ; 
they  felt  that  spiritual  culture  would  be  most  auspicious,  where  natural 
charms  most  abound.  They  believed  that  in  the  shrines  which  Jeho- 
vah had  adorned  with  the  clearest  impress  of  his  own  attributes,  and 
in  Mhich  he  had  bidden  nature  coutriljute  her  richest  gifts, —  the 
glittering  gems  of  her  mineral  stores,  the  faii-est  folds  of  her  tinted 
di-apery,  the  delicate  tracery  of  her  interlacuig  boughs,  the  incense  of 
her  breathing  flowers,  the  music  of  her  gentlest  zephyrs,  her  sighing 


48  SCENERY     AND      MINI). 

foliage,  cliautiug  liirds,  and  gliding  waters, —  they  also  eonld  most 
suitably  offer  adoration.  Quiet  nooks,  sliut  in  by  the  curving  river,  as 
Kirkstall  ;  i-ock\-  banks,  encompassed  Avlth  verdant  foliage,  as  Foun- 
tains ;  umbrageous  and  sequestered  sea-coasts,  as  Netley ;  green  plots 
of  smooth  sward,  traversed  by  some  wUd,  romantic  stream,  as  Tiutern ; 
cool  and  solitary  valleys,  as  Furness ;  lovely  shores,  where  the  swift 
brook  sjiarkles  and  bounds  to  the  deep,  as  Beaulieu  ;■ — such  were  the 
homes  the  early  Christians  loved.  And  they  had  their  reward.  Their 
persons,  their  names,  and  the  distinguishing  features  of  theu-  creeds, 
trae  and  false,  have  mainly  passed  away,  but  the  scenes  of  their  earthly 
devotions  are  treasured  by  all  the  good.  Still  we  visit  their  ruins,  to 
mourn  over  their  departed  glories ;  "  and  still  they  live  in  fame,  though 
not  in  life."  We  may  not  adopt  the  theology  of  those  devout  build- 
ers, 1)ut  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  emulate  their  taste,  knowing  that 
wliile  all  subliuiaiy  things  are  transient,  "a  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy 
for  ever  ! " 

The  enthusiastic  painter,  Gainsborough,  exclaimed  (Jii  his  death- 
Ijed, — "  "VYe  are  all  going  to  heaven,  and  Vand}ke  will  be  of  the 
party."  May  the  reader  be  imbued  with  something  more  di\Tiie  than 
mei-e  taste,  that  he  may  survive  anguish  or  ecstasy  in  the  energies  of 
faith ;  and,  soaring  amid  the  infinite  glories  of  the  universe,  at  each 
remove  imbil)ing  majestic  charms  of  every  hue  and  form,  may  he  for 
ever  realize  the  high  significancy  of  our  tlieme,— Scenery  and  Mind. 


\y 


A^ZjZ^.       (/t^/t.  ^^<^ 


VIEW    NEAR    RONDOUT. 

(HUNTINGTON.) 

TiiE  \dllage  of  Rondout,  founded  in  1808,  by  tlie  Delaware  and 
Hudson  Canal  Company,  is  situated  near  the  Walkill  Creek  on  the 
Hudson,  about  ninety  miles  above  the  city  of  New- York,  and  two 
miles  distant  from  Eddyville,  where  that  Canal  terminates. 

In  the  effective  and  mellow  little  pictm-e  from  which  om-  engrav- 
ing is  taken,  Mr.  Huntington  has  pleasiagly  represented  a  secluded 
aad  romantic  nook  on  the  creek,  near  its  entrance  to  the  Hudson. 
In  the  background  is  a  glimpse  of  the  Catskill  mountains.  The 
picture  is  one  of  a  paii"  belonging  to  Gen.  John  A.  Dix,  and  is  one 
of  the  happiest  efforts  of  the  aitLst  in  this  department,  especially  in 
its  coloring. 


AMERICAN  AND  EUROPEAN  SCENERY  COMPARED. 


BY   J.  FENIMORE   COOPER. 

EvEBT  intellectual  being  has  a  longing  to  see  distant  lauds.  We 
desire  to  ascertain,  hj  actual  observation,  tlie  peculiarities  of  nations, 
the  dififerences  wMcli  exist  between  the  stranger  and  ourselves,  and  as 
it  might  be  all  that  lies  beyond  our  daily  experience.  This  feeling 
seems  implanted  in  our  nature,  and  few  who  possess  the  means  of 
doing  so  fail  to  gratify  it.  Every  day  increases  the  amount  of  the 
intercourse  between  the  people  of  different  countries,  and  the  happiest 
results  may  be  anticipated  from  this  fusion  of  nations  and  the  hu- 
manizing influences  which  are  its  consequences.  Those,  however,  who 
are  forbidden  by  circumstances  to  extend  their  personal  observations 
beyond  the  hmits  of  their  own  homes,  must  be  content  to  derive 
their  information  on  such  subjects  from  the  pen,  the  pencil,  and  the 
graver. 

We  understand  it  to  be  the  design  of  this  work  to  aid  in  impart- 
ing a  poi-tion  of  the  intelligence,  necessary  to  appease  these  cra\Tngs 
of  our  nature,  and  to  equahze,  as  it  might  be,  the  knowledge  of  men 
and  things.      Our  own  task  is  very  simple.     It  will  be  confined  to 


52         AMERICAN   AND   EUROPEAN   SCENERY. 

allowing  some  of  tlie  leatliug  peculiarities  of  tlie  scenery  of  various 
nations,  and  to  direct  the  attention  of  tlie  reader  to  the  minor  cii'cmn- 
stauces  Avhich  give  character  to  the  landscape,  Init  wliich  are  seldom 
alluded  to  by  the  writers  of  graver  works. 

The  great  distinction  between  American  and  European  scenery,  as 
a  whole,  is  to  be  found  in  the  greater  want  of  finish  in  the  former  than 
in  the  latter,  and  to  the  greater  supei-fluity  of  works  of  art  in  the 
old  world  than  in  the  new.  Natm-e  has  certainly  made  some  dif- 
ferences, though  there  are  large  portions  of  continental  Em-ope  that, 
without  their  artificial  accessories,  might  well  pass  for  districts  in  our 
own  region  ;  and  ^\hich  forcibly  remind  the  traveller  of  his  native 
home.  As  a  whole,  it  must  be  admitted  that  Europe  otters  to  the 
senses  sublimer  \aews  and  certainly  grander,  than  are  to  be  found 
within  our  own  borders,  unless  we  resort  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
the  ranges  in  California  and  New  Mexico. 

In  musing  on  these  subjects,  the  mind  of  the  imtravelled  American 
naturally  turns  first  towards  England.  He  has  pictured  to  himself 
landscapes  and  scenery  on  which  are  impressed  the  teeming  history 
of  the  past.  We  shall  endeavor  to  point  out  the  leading  distinc- 
tions between  the  scenery  of  England  and  that  of  America,  therefore, 
iis  the  course  that  will  i)robably  be  most  acceptable  to  the  reader. 

The  pi'evalent  characteristic  of  the  English  landscape  is  its  air  of 
snugness  and  comfort.  In  these  respects  it  difl:ei's  cntii'ely  from  its 
neighbor,  France.  The  English,  no  doubt,  have  a  great  deal  of 
poverty  and  squalid  misery  among  them.  But  it  is  kept  surpris- 
ingly out  of  the  ordinary  A-iew.  Most  of  it,  indeed,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  towns,  and  even  in  them  it  is  concealed  in  out  of  tlie  ^\:\y  places 
and  streets  seldom  entered  by  the  stranger. 

Tliere  are  places  in  America,  more  especially  in  tlie  vicinities  of 
the  lartfc  towns,  tliat  have  a  strong  reseiuhlaiiee  to  the  more  crowded 


AMERICAN       AND       EUROPEAN       SCENERY.  53i 

portions  of  Eugland,  though  the  hedge  is  usually  wanting  and  the 
stone  wall  is  more  in  favor  among  ourselves  than  it  appears  ever  to 
have  been  among  our  ancestors.  The  great  abundance  of  wood,  in 
this  country,  too,  gives  us  the  rail  and  the  board  for  our  fences,  olyects 
which  the  lovers  of  the  picturesque  would  gladly  see  supplanted  by 
the  l)rier  and  the  thorn.  All  that  part  of  Staten  Island,  which  lies 
nearest  to  the  quarantine  ground,  has  a  marked  resemblance  to  what 
we  should  term  suburban  English  landscape.  The  neighborhoods  of 
most  of  the  old  towns  ia  the  northern  States,  have  more  or  less  of  the 
same  character ;  it  Ijeing  natural  that  the  descendants  of  Englishmen 
should  have  preserved  as  many  of  the  usages  of  their  forefathers  as 
was  practicable.  We  know  of  no  portion  of  this  country  that  bears 
any  marked  resemblance  to  the  prevalent  charactei-istics  of  an  ordi- 
nary French  landscape.  In  France  there  are  two  great  distinctive 
features  that  seem  to  divide  the  materials  of  the  views  between  them. 
One  is  that  of  a  bald  nakedness  of  fomial  grandes  routes^  systematically 
lined  with  trees,  a  total  absence  of  farm-houses,  fences,  hedges,  and  walls, 
little  or  no  forest,  except  in  particular  places,  scarcely  any  pieces  of 
detached  woods,  and  a  husbandry  that  is  remarkable  for  its  stiffiiess 
and  formality.  The  fields  of  a  French  acclivity,  when  the  grain  is 
rijie,  or  ripening,  have  a  strong  resemblance  to  an  ordinary  Manchester 
pattern-card,  in  which  the  different  cloths,  varying  in  color,  are  placed 
under  the  eye  at  one  glance.  Tlie  effect  of  this  is  not  j^leasiug.  The 
lines  being  straight  and  the  fields  exhibiting  none  of  the  freedom  of 
natm-e.  Stifliiess  and  formality,  indeed,  imj^au-  the  beauty  of  niue- 
tenths  of  the  French  landscapes ;  though  as  a  whole  the  country  is 
considered  fine,  and  is  certainly  very  productive.  The  other  distinc- 
tive feature  to  which  we  aUude  is  of  a  directly  contrary  character, 
being  remarkable  for  the  aflliience  of  its  objects.  It  often  occurs  in 
that   country  that  the  traveller  finds  himself  on  a  height  that  com- 


54  AMERICAN      AND      EUROPEAN      SCENERY. 

mauds  a  view  of  great  extent,  wMcli  is  literally  covered  -vvitli  hourgs 
or  .small  towns  and  villages.  This  occurs  particularly  in  Normandy, 
in  the  vicinity  of  Paris,  and  jus  one  approaches  the  Loire.  In  such 
places  it  Ls  no  miusnal  thing  for  the  eye  to  embrace,  as  it  might  be  in 
a  single  view,  some  forty  or  fifty  cold,  grave-looking,  chiselled  lourgs 
and  villages,  almost  invarialily  erected  in  stone.  The  eft'ect  is  not  un- 
pleasant, for  the  sulxlued  color  of  the  buildings  has  a  tendency  to 
soften  the  landscape  and  to  render  the  Avhole  solemn  and  imposing. 
We  can  recall  many  of  these  scenes  that  have  left  indehl)le  impres- 
sions on  the  mind,  and  which,  if  not  positively  beautiful  in  a  rural 
sense,  are  very  remarkable.  That  from  the  heights  of  Montmorenci, 
near  Paris,  is  one  of  them ;  and  there  is  another,  from  the  hill  of  St. 
Catharine,  near  Eouen,  that  is  quite  as  exti*aordinaiy. 

The  greater  natural  freedom  that  exists  in  an  ordinary  American 
landscape,  and  the  abundance  of  detached  fragments  of  wood,  often 
render  the  ^aews  of  this  country  strikingly  beautiful  when  they  are 
of  sufficient  extent  to  conceal  the  want  of  finish  in  the  details,  which 
require  time  and  long-continued  labor  to  accomplish.  In  this  par- 
ticvdar  we  conceive  that  the  older  portions  of  the  United  States  ofter  to 
the  eye  a  general  outline  of  \dew  that  may  well  claim  to  be  even  of  a 
higher  cast,  than  most  of  the  sceneiy  of  the  old  world. 

There  is  one  great  charm,  however,  that  it  must  be  confessed  is 
nearly  wanting  among  us.  A^^c  allude  to  the  coast.  Our  own  is,  A\'ith 
scarcely  an  exce])tion,  low,  monotonous  and  tame.  It  wants  Aljiine 
rocks,  bold  promontories,  visilde  heights  inland,  and  all  those  other 
glorious  accessories  of  the  sort  that  render  the  coast  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean the  wonder  of  the  world.  It  Ls  usual  for  the  American  to 
dilate  on  the  size  of  his  bays  and  rivers,  but  ol)jects  like  these  require 
corresponding  elevation  in  the  land.  Admiralile  as  is  the  bay  of 
New-York  for  tlic  imrjwses  of  commerce,  it  holds  but  a  very  subor- 


AMERICAN       AND       EUROPEAN       SCENERY.  bb 

dinate  place  as  a  landscape  among  tlie  other  havens  of  the  worhl. 
The  comparison  with  Na])les  that  has  so  often  been  made,  is  singularly 
unjust,  there  not  being  two  bays  of  any  extent  to  be  found,  that  are 
really  less  alike  than  these.  It  was  never  our  good  fortune  to  see 
Constantinople  or  Rio  de  Janeii'o,  the  two  noblest  and  most  remarka- 
ble scenes  of  this  kind,  as  we  have  understood,  known  to  the  traveller. 
But  we  much  question  if  either  will  endure  the  test  of  rigid  and  severe 
examination  better  than  the  celebrated  Gulf  of  Napoli.  The  color  of 
the  water,  alone,  is  a  peculiar  beauty  of  all  the  Mediterranean  bays  : 
it  is  the  blue  of  the  deep  sea,  carried  home  to  the  very  rocks  of  the 
coast.  In  this  respect,  the  shores  of  America,  also,  have  less  claim  to 
beauty  than  those  of  Europe,  generally.  The  waters  are  green,  the 
certain  sign  of  their'  l:>eiug  shallow.  Similar  tints  prevail  in  the  narrow 
seas  between  Holland  and  England.  The  name  of  Holland  recalls  a 
land,  however,  that  is  even  lower  than  any  portion  of  our  own  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  There  are  large  districts  in  Holland  that 
are  actually  below  the  level  of  the  high  tides  of  the  sea.  This  country 
is  a  proof  how  much  time,  civilization,  and  jDersevering  industry,  may 
add  even  to  the  interest  of  a  landscape.  While  the  tameness  of  the 
American  coast  has  so  little  to  relieve  it  or  to  give  it  character,  in 
Holland  it  becomes  the  source  of  wonder  and  admiration.  The  sight 
of  vast  meadows,  villages,  farm-houses,  churches,  and  other  works  of 
art,  actually  lying  below  the  level  of  the  adjacent  canals,  and  the 
neighboring  seas,  wakes  in  the  mind  a  species  of  reverence  for  human 
industry.  This  feeling  becomes  blended  with  the  views,  and  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  gaze  upon  a  Dutch  landscape  without  seeing,  at 
the  same  time,  ample  pages  from  the  history  of  the  country  and  the 
character  of  its  people.  On  this  side  of  the  ocean,  there  are  no 
such  peculiarities.  Time,  numbers,  and  labor  are  yet  wanting  to 
supply  the  defects  of  nature,  and  we  must  be  content,  for  a  while. 


r)6  AMEKICAN       AND       EUROPEAN       SCENERY. 

■witli  tlie  less  teeming  pictures  drawn  in  our  youtli  and  comparative 
simjilicity. 

On  tlie  American  coast  tlie  prevailing  character  is  less  marked  at 
the  northward  and  eastward  than  at  the  southward.  At  some  future 
day,  the  Everglades  of  Florida  may  have  a  certain  resemblance  to 
Holland.  They  are  the  lowest  land,  we  beheve,  in  any  part  of  this 
country. 

Taking  into  the  account  the  climate  and  its  productions,  the  adja- 
cent mountains,  the  most  picturesque  outlines  of  the  lakes,  and  the 
works  of  art  which  embellish  the  whole,  we  think  that  most  lovei-s  of 
natural  scenery  would  prefer  that  around  the  lakes  of  Como  and  Mag- 
giore  to  that  of  any  other  place  familiarly  knoTVTi  to  the  traveller. 
Como  is  ordinarily  conceived  to  carry  off  the  palm  in  Em-ope,  and  it 
is  not  probable  that  the  great  mountains  of  the  East  or  any  part  of 
the  Andes,  can  assemble  as  many  objects  of  grandeur,  sweetness,  mag- 
nificence and  art,  as  are  to  be  found  in  this  region.  Of  course,  our 
own  country  has  nothing  of  the  sort  to  comjjare  with  it.  The  Rocky 
Moimtains,  and  the  other  great  ranges  in  the  recent  accession  of  terri- 
tory, must  possess  many  no})le  \'iews,  especially  as  one  proceeds  south ; 
but  the  accessories  are  necessarily  wanting,  for  a  union  of  art  and 
nature  can  alone  render  scenery  perfect. 

In  the  way  of  the  wild,  the  terrific,  and  the  grand,  nature  is  sufii- 
cient  of  herself ;  but  Niagara  is  scarcely  more  imposing  than  she  is 
now  rendered  lovely  by  the  works  of  man.  It  is  true  that  this  cele- 
brated cataract  has  a  maiked  sweetness  of  expression,  if  we  may  use 
such  a  term,  that  singulai'ly  softens  its  magnificence,  and  now  that  men 
are  becoming  more  famihar  with  its  mysteries,  and  penetrating  into  its 
very  mists,  by  means  of  a  small  steamboat, — the  admirer  of  nature 
discovers  a  character  dittei'cnt  from  that  Avhieh  first  strikes  the  senses. 

We  regard  it  as  hypercritical  to  speak  of  the  want  of  Alpine  scenery 


AMERICAN       AKD       EUROPEAN       SCENERY.  57 

ai'ound  Niagara,  On  what  scale  must  the  mountains  be  moulded  to 
bear  a  just  compai'ison,  in  this  view  of  tlie  matter,  -^^-ith  the  grandeur 
of  the  cataract !  The  Al^is,  the  Andes,  and  the  Himmalaya,  would 
scarcely  suffice  to  furnish  materials  necessary  to  produce  the  contrast, 
on  any  measurement  now  known  to  the  world.  In  fact  the  accessories, 
except  as  they  are  Ijlended  with  the  Falls  themselves,  as  in  the  T^'on- 
deiful  o-oro-e  throuofh  which  the  river  rushes  in  an  almost  fathomless 
torrent,  as  if  frightened  at  its  own  terrific  leap  ;  the  "Whirlpool,  and 
all  that  properly  belongs  to  the  stream,  from  the  commencement  of 
the  Rapids,  or,  to  be  more  exact,  from  the  placid,  lake-like  scenery 
above  these  Eapids,  down  to  the  point  where  the  waters  of  this  mighty 
strait  are  poured  into  the  bosom  of  the  Ontario,  strike  us  as  being  in 
singular  liarmon}-  with  the  views  of  the  Cataract  itself. 

The  Amei'icans  may  well  boast  of  their  water-falls,  and  of  theii" 
lakes,  notwithstanding  the  admitted  suj^eriority  of  upper  Italy  and 
Switzerland  in  coimection  with  the  highest  classes  of  the  latter.  They 
form  objects  of  interest  over  a  vast  surface  of  teriitory,  and  greatly 
relieve  the  monotony  of  the  inland  views.  We  do  not  now  allude  to 
the  five  great  lakes,  which  resemble  seas  and  ofter  very  much  the  same 
assemblage  of  objects  to  the  eye ;  but  to  those  of  greatly  inferior 
extent,  that  are  sparkling  over  so  much  of  the  surface  of  the  northern 
States.  The  east,  and  New-York  in  particular,  abound  in  them,  though 
farther  west  the  lover  of  the  picturesque  must  be  content  to  receive 
the  prairie  in  their  stead.  It  would  be  a  great  mistake,  however,  to 
attemjjt  to  comjiare  any  of  these  lakes  with  the  finest  of  the  old  woi'ld ; 
though  many  of  them  are  very  lovely  and  all  contribute  to  embellish 
the  scenery.  Lake  George  itseK  could  not  occupy  more  than  a  fourth 
or  fifth  position  in  a  justly  graduated  scale  of  the  lakes  of  Christendom ; 
though  certainly  very  charming  to  the  eye,  and  of  singular  variety  in 
its  aspects.  In  one  particular,  indeed,  this  lake  has  scarcely  an  equal. 
S 


58  AMERICAN      AND      ELTROPEAN      S  C  E  N  E  K  Y. 

We  allude  to  its  islands,  wliicli  are  said  to  equal  the  number  of  tlie 
days  in  the  year.  Points,  promontories,  and  headlands  are  scarcely 
ever  substitutes  for  islands,  wliicb  add  inexpressibly  to  the  effect  of  all 
water-'sdews. 

It  has  been  a  question  among  the  admirers  of  natm'al  sceueiy, 
whether  the  presence  or  absence  of  detached  farm-houses,  of  trees,  of 
hedges,  walls  and  fences,  most  contribute  to  the  effect  of  any  inland 
\aew.  As  these  are  the  great  points  of  distinction  between  the  conti- 
nent of  Euro]3e  and  our  own  country,  we  shall  pause  a  moment  to 
examine  the  subject  a  little  more  in  detail.  When  the  towns  and 
villages  are  sufficiently  numerous  to  catch  the  attention  of  tlie  eye, 
and  there  are  occasional  fragments  of  forest  in  sight,  one  does  not  so 
much  miss  the  absence  of  that  appearance  of  comfort  and  animated 
beauty  that  the  other  style  of  embellishment  so  eminently  possesses. 
A  great  deal,  however,  depends,  as  respects  these  particulars,  on  the 
nature  of  the  architecture  and  the  color  of  the  buildings  and  fences. 
It  is  only  in  very  particular  places  and  under  very  dull  lights,  that 
the  contrast  between  white  and  green  is  agreeaUe.  A  fence  that  looks 
as  if  it  were  covered  Avith  clotlies  hung  out  to  dry,  does  very  little 
towai'ds  aiding  the  picturesque.  And  he  who  endeavors  to  improve 
his  taste  in  these  particulars,  will  not  fail  to  discover  in  time  that  a 
range  of  country  which  gives  uj)  its  oljjects,  chiselled  and  distinct,  but 
sober,  and  somctiiues  sonil)re,  will  eventually  take  stronger  liold  of  his 
fancy  than  one  that  is  glittering  with  the  fruits  of  the  paint  and  white- 
wash brushes.  AVe  are  never  dissatisfied  Avith  the  natural  tints  of 
stone,  for  the  mind  i-cadily  submits  to  the  ordering  of  nature;  and 
though  one  color  may  be  preferred  to  another,  each  and  all  are  accept- 
a>)le  in  their  proper  places.  Tlius,  a  marble  structure  is  expected  to 
be  white,  and  as  sucli,  if  the  l)uilding  be  of  suitable  dimensions  and 
projioi'tlons,  escapes  our  I'liticisins,  on  account  of  its  richness  and  uses. 


AMERICAN      AND      EUROPEAN      SCENERY.  59 

Tlie  same  may  1)e  said  of  other  Imes,  wlien  not  artificial ;  l)ut  we  tMnk 
that  most  admirei's  of  nature,  as  they  come  to  cultivate  tlieir  tastes, 
settle  down  into  a  preference  for  tlie  gray  and  subdued  over  all  tlie 
brighter  tints  that  art  can  produce.  In  this  particular,  then,  we  give 
the  preference  to  the  effects  of  European  scenery,  over  that  of  this 
country,  where  wood  is  so  much  used  for  the  purposes  of  building, 
and  where  the  fiishion  has  long  been  to  color  it  with  white.  A  better 
taste,  however,  or  what  we  esteem  as  such,  is  beginning  to  prevail,  and 
houses  in  towns  and  villages  are  now  not  unfrequently  even  painted 
in  subdued  colors.  We  regard  the  effect  as  an  improvement,  though 
to  our  taste  no  hue,  in  its  artificial  objects,  so  embellishes  a  landscape 
as  the  solemn  color  of  the  more  sober,  and  less  meretricious  looking 
stones. 

"We  believe  that  a  structure  of  white,  with  green  blinds,  is  almost 
peculiar  to  this  country.  In  the  most  pro25itious  situations,  and  under 
the  happiest  cii'cumstauces,  the  colors  are  unquestional)ly  unsuited  to 
architectm-e,  which,  like  statuaiy,  should  have  Irat  one  tint.  If,  however, 
it  be  deemed  essential  to  the  flaunting  tastes  of  the  mistress  of  some 
mansion,  to  cause  the  hues  of  the  edifice  in  which  she  resides  to  be  as 
gay  as  her  toilette,  we  earnestly  jjrotest  against  the  bright  green  that 
is  occasionally  introduced  for  such  purposes.  There  is  a  graver  tint,  of 
the  same  color,  that  entirely  changes  the  expression  of  a  dwelling. 
Place  two  of  these  houses  in  close  proximity,  and  scarcely  an  intellec- 
tual being  would  pass  them,  without  sapng  that  the  owner  of  the  one 
was  much  superior  to  the  owner  of  the  other  in  all  that  marks  the 
civilized  man.  Put  a  third  structure  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
these  two,  that  should  have  but  one  color  on  its  surface,  including  its 
blinds,  and  we  think  that  nine  persons  in  ten,  except  the  very  vulgar 
and  uniustructed,  would  at  once  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  the  owner 
of  tliis  habitation  was  in  tastes  and  refinement  superior  to  both  his 


60  A  M  E  K  I  C  A  N      A  X  D      E  U  E  O  T  E  A  N       S  C  E  N  E  U  V. 

neiglibors.  A  great  improvement,  however,  in  rural  as  well  as  in  town 
architecture,  is  now  in  the  course  of  introduction  throughout  all  the 
northern  States.  More  attention  is  paid  to  the  picturesque  than  was 
formerly  the  case,  and  the  effects  are  becoming  as  numerous  as  they 
are  pleasmg.  We  should  particularize  New  Haven,  as  one  of  those 
towns  that  has  been  thus  embellished  of  late  years,  and  there  are 
other  places,  of  neai'ly  equal  size,  that  might  be  mentioned  as  ha\ang 
the  same  claims  to  an  improved  taste.  But  to  return  to  the  great 
distinctive  features  between  an  ordinary  American  landscape  and  a 
similar  scene  in  Europe.  Of  the  artificial  accessories  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say  any  more.  One  does  not  ex]iect  to  meet  with  a 
ruined  castle  or  abbey,  or  even  fortress,  in  America ;  nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  does  the  traveller  look  for  the  forests  of  America,  or  that  abun- 
dance of  wood,  which  gives  to  nearly  every  farm  a  sufficiency  for  all 
the  common  wants  of  life,  on  the  plains  and  heights  of  the  old  A^'orld. 
Wood  there  certainly  is,  and  possibly  enough  to  meet  the  ordinary 
wants  of  the  different  countries,  but  it  is  generally  in  the  hands  of  the 
governments  or  the  great  proprietors,  and  takes  the  aspect  of  forests  of 
greater  or  less  size,  that  are  well  cared  for,  cleared  and  trimmed  like 
the  grounds  of  a  park. 

Germany  has,  we  think,  in  some  respects  a  strong  reseml>lance  to 
the  \'iews  of  America.  It  is  not  so  much  wanting  in  detached  copses 
and  smaller  plantations  of  trees  as  the  countries  farther  south  and  east 
of  it,  while  it  has  less  of  the  naked  aspect  in  general  that  is  so  I'emark- 
able  in  France.  Detached  buildings  occur  more  frequently  in  Germany 
than  in  France  especially,  and  we  might  add  also  in  S])ain.  The 
reader  will  rememl)er  that  it  is  a  })i'eval('nt  usage  throughout  Europe, 
Avith  the  exception  of  the  British  Islands,  Holland,  and  here  and  there 
a  province  in  other  countries,  for  the  rural  jjopulation  to  dwell  in 
villages.     This  practice  gives  to  the  German  landscajx',  iu  particular,  a 


AMERICAN      AND      EIJEOPEAN      SCENERY.  Gl 

species  of  reseiublaiioe  to  what  is  ordinarily  termed  park  scenery, 
tlioiigli  it  is  necessarily  wanting  in  inucli  of  that  expression  whicli 
characterizes  the  embellishments  that  properly  belong  to  the  latter. 
With  us  this  resemblance  is  often  even  stronger,  in  consequence  of  the 
careless  graces  of  nature  and  the  great  affluence  of  detached  woods ; 
the  distinguishing  features  existing  in  the  farm-house,  fences  and  out- 
buildings. Of  a  cloudy  day,  a  distant  view  in  America  often  bears 
this  likeness  to  the  park,  in  a  very  marked  degree,  for  then  the  graces 
of  the  scene  are  visible  to  the  eye,  while  the  defects  of  the  details  are 
too  remote  to  be  detected. 

The  mountain  scenery  of  the  United  States,  though  wanting  in 
grandeur,  and  in  that  wild  sublimity  which  ordinarily  belongs  to  a 
granite  formation,  is  not  without  attractions  that  are  singularly  its 
own.  The  great  abundance  of  forest,  the  arable  qualities  of  the  soil, 
and  the  peculiar  blending  of  what  may  be  termed  the  agricultural  and 
the  savage,  unite  to  produce  landscapes  of  extraordinary  beauty  and 
grace.  Vast  regions  of  country  possessing  this  character  are  to  be 
found  in  almost  all  the  old  States,  for  after  quitting  the  coast  for  a 
greater  or  less  distance,  varying  from  one  to  two  hundred  miles,  the 
ranges  of  the  Alleghanies  interpose  between  the  monotonous  districts 
of  the  Atlantic  shores  and  the  great  plains  of  the  west.  We  are  of 
opinion  that  as  civilization  advances,  and  the  husbandman  has  l^rought 
his  lands  to  the  highest  state  of  cultivation,  there  will  be  a  line  of 
mountain  scenery  extending  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  in  a  north  and 
south  direction,  and  possessing  a  general  width  of  from  one  to  two 
hundred  miles,  from  east  to  west,  that  will  scarcely  have  a  parallel  in 
any  other  quarter  of  the  world,  in  those  sylvan  upland  landscapes, 
which,  while  they  are  wanting  in  the  sublimity  of  the  Alpine  regions, 
share  so  largely  in  the  striking  and  effective. 

It  is  usual  for  the  American  to  boast  of  his  rivers,  not  only  for 


G2         AMEKICAN   AND   EUROPEAN   SCENERY. 

their  size  and  usefulness,  Lut  for  tlieii*  beauties.  A  thousand  streams, 
that  in  ohler  regions  would  have  been  rendered  memorable,  ages  since, 
l)y  the  poet,  the  painter,  ai't  in  every  form,  and  the  events  of  a  teeming 
history,  flow  within  the  Hmits  of  the  United  States  still  unsung,  and 
nearly  unknown.  As  yet,  something  is  ordinarily  wanting,  in  the  way 
of  finish,  along  the  banks  of  these  inferior  water-courses.  But  occasion- 
ally, in  places  where  art  has,  as  it  might  Tie,  accidentally  assisted 
nature,  they  come  into  the  landscape  with  the  most  pleasing  influence 
on  its  charms.  In  this  respect,  the  peculiarity  of  the  country  is  rather 
in  a  want  of  uniformity  than  in  any  want  of  material.  To  us,  it  would 
seem  that  all  the  northern  States  of  America,  at  least,  are  far  better 
watered  than  common,  and  that  consequently  they  possess  more  of  this 
species  of  beauty.  As  for  the  great  streams,  the  largest,  perhaps, 
have  the  least  claims  to  high  character  in  this  I'espect  in  both  the  old 
and  the  new  world.  The  Rhine  is  an  exception,  however,  for  it  would 
be  dithcult  to  find  another  river  of  equal  length  and  with  the  same 
flow  of  water,  that  possesses  the  same  diversity  of  character  or  one 
so  peculiar.  At  its  source  it  descends  from  the  high  glaciers  of  the 
Alps  a  number  of  brawling  brooks,  which  forcing  their  way  through 
the  upper  valleys,  unite  below  in  a  straggling,  rapid,  l;)ut  shallow 
stream,  that  finds  its  way  into  the  lake  of  Constance,  out  of  which  it 
issues  a  compact,  rajiid  river,  imposing  Ijy  its  volume  of  water,  I'ather 
tlian  l>y  its  breadth,  or  any  other  advantage.  Its  cataracts,  so  celebra- 
ted in  the  old  world,  can  scarcely  claim  to  l)e  the  equal  of  the  Cohoes, 
or  many  others  of  the  secondary  falls  of  this  country,  though  the 
Rhine  has  always  an  abundance  of  water,  whicli  the  Mohawk  has  not. 
On  ([uitting  Switzci'land,  this  remarkable  stream  assumes  many  aspects, 
and  decorates,  lieyond  a  doubt,  as  much  landscape  scenery  as  falls  to 
tlie  share  of  any  other  stream  in  the  known  world.  "We  do  not  think 
it,  li<)\\i'\(  r,  in  its  best  parts,  e(pial  to  the  Hudson  in  its  wliole  length. 


AMERICAN       AND       ETIKOPEAN       SCENERY.  G3 

tliougli  the  cliaracters  of  tliese  two  rivers  are  so  very  difi'ereut  as 
scarcely  to  admit  of  a  fair  comparison.  PerhajDS  tlie  most  remarkalole 
feature  of  tlie  Eliiue  is  its  termination,  for  after  embelllsliiug  and 
serving  tlie  purposes  of  sucli  an  extent  of  country  in  the  very  heart  of 
Eui'ope,  it  disappears,  as  it  might  be,  in  a  uumlier  of  straggling,  unin- 
teresting, turbid  waters,  among  the  marshes  of  Holland.  This  is  a 
veiy  difl'erent  exit  from  that  which  characterizes  the  majestic  flow  of 
the  Hudson  to  the  Atlantic. 

England  has  no  great  livers  to  boast  of,  though  she  has  a  few  of 
singular  claims  to  notice,  on  account  of  the  great  flow  of  the  tides  and 
the  vast  amount  of  commerce  that  they  bear  on  their  bosom.  Tlie 
Thames,  so  renowned  in  history,  is  as  uninterestuig  as  possible,  until  it 
passes  above  the  Ijridges  of  London,  where  it  becomes  an  ordinarily 
pretty  sylvan  stream. 

The  Seine,  another  river,  familiar  in  name,  at  least,  to  every  reader, 
has  much  higher  claims  than  its  neighbor  of  the  British  Islands,  in  the 
way  of  natm-al  beauty.  This  stream,  from  Eouen  to  the  Channel,  is 
not  without  some  very  fine  scenery,  as  well  as  possessing  a  very  vari- 
ant and  interesting  charactei',  mth  both  natural  and  artificial  accesso- 
ries, to  say  nothing  of  the  historical,  that  di'aw  largely  on  the  atten- 
tion. 

Italy  has  many  rivers  that  are  celebrated  in  song  or  story,  but  not 
one,  we  think,  that  should  rank  high,  on  the  ground  of  landscape 
beauty.  Most  of  her  streams  are  so  dependent  on  the  melting  of  the 
snows  in  the  Apemiiues  and  Alps,  as  to  Ije  either  brawling  torrents,  or 
meagre,  straggling  pools.  The  Amo,  the  Po,  the  Adige,  the  Tiber, 
and  all  the  other  livers  of  that  peninsula,  are  ol^noxious  to  these 
objections.  Even  the  Tiber,  which  is  navigable  as  high  as  Rome,  for 
vessels  of  a  light  draft,  is  either  a  tranquil  thread,  or  one  of  those 
noisy,  turbid  streams  that  overfow  theii-  banks,  and  often  appear  at  a 
loss  to  know  in  which  direction  to  pour  their  waters. 


04  AMERICAN      AND      EUROPEAN      SCENERY. 

Tlie  day  is  not  distant,  wlieu  America  must  possess  a  vast  extent 
of  territory  of  a  character  directly  the  reverse  of  that  we  have  described 
in  our  mountain  scenery,  but  which,  nevertheh^ss,  will  not  l>e  without 
a  certain  magnificence  from  its  extent,  productions,  and  fertility.  We 
allude  to  the  great  plains  of  the  "West ;  those  which  lie  between  the 
bases  of  the  AUeghanies  and  the  semi-sterile  steppes  that  are  known 
in  this  part  of  the  world  as  the  great  ])rairies.  Lombardy,  teeming  as 
she  is  with  population,  \dnes,  and  all  the  productions  of  a  fertile  soil, 
in  the  possession  of  millions,  sinks  into  insignificance  before  the  vast 
})lains  that  are  destined  to  be  her  rivals  in  this  quarter  of  the  woi'ld. 
Perliaps  New- York,  ah)ne,  could  furnish  nearly  as  niucli  of  this  charac- 
ter of  country  as  is  to  l)e  found  in  Upper  Italy ;  for,  stretching  from 
the  shores  of  Ontario  towards  the  southern  ranges  of  uplands,  and  as 
far  east  as  Utica,  is  spread  to  the  eye  a  vast  extent  of  the  most  fertile 
plain,  slightly  relieved  in  places  with  a  rolling  surface  of  very  respecta- 
ble claims  to  natural  beauty.  We  question  if  greater  fertility  is  to  be 
found  in  any  part  of  the  world,  than  is  met  with  in  the  region  last 
mentioned,  though  drainage  and  the  other  woi'ks  of  an  advanced  state 
of  husbandly  are  still  much  wanting  to  bring  foi'th  both  its  fertility 
and  its  beauties. 

New- York,  indeed,  in  the  way  of  scenery,  has  very  high  claims  to 
variety,  gi-acefulness,  and  even  grandeur,  among  the  mountains  of  the 
counties  bordering  on  Champlain.  By  grandeur,  however,  let  there 
be  no  mistake,  by  receiving  the  term  in  any  other  than  a  linrited  sense. 
Any  well  delineated  view  of  a  high-class  Swiss  scene,  must  at  once 
convince  even  the  most  ju'ovincial  mind  among  us  that  nothing  vi'  tlie 
sort  is  to  Ije  found  in  America,  east  of  the  llocky  Mountains.  Never- 
theless, the  Adirondack  has  claims  to  a  Avild  grandeur,  which,  if  it 
do  not  ajipi'oach  magnificence,  is  of  a  cliaracter  to  impi-ess  a  region 
witli   tlic  sell  lit'  a  \crv  noble  nature.     The  lovers  of  the  i)ietiiresi|ue 


AMERICAN   AND   EUROPEAN   SCENERY.         05 

sustain  a  great  loss  by  means  of  the  numerous  lines  of  railroads  that 
have  recently  come  into  existence.  This  is  true  of  both  Europe  and 
America.  In  the  course  of  time,  it  will  be  found  that  every  where  a 
country  presents  its  best  face  towards  its  thoroughfares.  Every  thing 
that  depends  on  art,  naturally  takes  this  aspect,  for  men  are  as  likely 
to  put  on  their  best  appearance  along  a  wayside  in  the  country  as  on 
the  streets  of  a  town.  All  that  has  been  done,  therefore,  in  past  ages, 
in  these  particulars,  is  being  deranged  and  in  some  instances  deformed 
by  the  necessity  of  preserving  levels,  and  avoiding  the  more  valuable 
portions  of  a  country,  in  order  to  diminish  expense.  Thus  villages  and 
towns  are  no  longer  entered  l)y  their  finest  passages,  producing  the 
best  effects ;  but  the  traveller  is  apt  to  find  his  view  limited  by  ranges 
of  sheds,  out-houses,  and  other  deformities  of  that  nature.  Here  and 
there,  some  work  of  art,  compelled  by  necessity,  furnishes  a  relief  to 
this  deformity.  But  on  the  whole,  the  recent  system  of  railroads  has 
as  yet  done  very  little  towards  adding  much  to  the  picturesque  for 
the  benefit  of  the  traveller.  Here  and  there  is  to  be  found  an  excep- 
tion, however,  to  this  rule  ;  portions  of  the  Erie  railroad,  and  the 
whole  of  the  Hudson  River,  as  well  as  that  along  the  Rhine,  necessa- 
I'ily  possessing  the  advantage  of  sharing  in  the  sublimity  and  grace 
through  which  they  pass.  Time  will,  of  course,  remedy  the  defects  of 
the  whole  arrangement ;  and  a  new  front  will  be  presented,  as  it  may 
be,  to  the  traveller  thi'oughout  the  civihzed  world.  Whether  human 
ingenuity  will  yet  succeed  in  inventing  substitutes  for  the  smoke  and 
other  unpleasant  appHances  of  a  railroad  train,  remains  to  be  seen ; 
but  we  think  few  will  be  disposed  to  differ  from  us,  when  we  say  that 
in  our  view  of  the  matter  this  great  improvement  of  modern  inter- 
course has  done  very  httle  towards  the  embellishment  of  a  country  in 
the  way  of  landscapes.  The  graceful  winding  curvatures  of  the  old 
highways,  the  acclivities  and  declivities,  the  copses,  meadows  and 
9 


66  AMERICAN      AND      EUItOrEAN      SCENERY. 

woods,  the  lialf-liidden  church,  nestling  among  the  leaves  of  its  elms 
and  pines,  the  neat  and  secluded  hamlet,  the  farm-house,  with  all  its 
comforts  and  sober  arrangements,  so  disposed  as  to  greet  the  eye  of 
the  passenger,  will  long  he  hopelessly  looked  for  by  him  who  flies 
through  these  scenes,  which,  like  a  picture  placed  in  a  false  light,  no 
longer  reflects  the  genius  and  skill  of  the  ai-tist. 

The  old  world  enjoys  an  advantage  as  i-egards  the  picturef<(pie  and 
pleasing,  in  connection  with  its  towns,  that  is  wholly  unknown,  unless 
it  may  be  in  the  way  of  exception,  among  ourselves.  The  necessity, 
in  the  middle  ages,  of  building  for  defence,  and  the  want  of  artillery 
before  the  invention  of  gunpowder,  contributed  to  the  construction  of 
military  woi-ks  for  the  protection  of  the  towns  of  Europe,  that  still 
remain,  owing  to  their  durable  materials,  often  producing  some  of  the 
finest  effects  that  the  imagination  could  invent  to  embellish  a  picture. 
Nothing  of  the  sort,  of  course,  is  to  be  met  with  here,  for  we  have  no 
castles,  have  never  felt  the  necessity  of  fortified  towns,  and  had  no 
existence  at  the  period  when  works  of  this  nature  came  within  the 
ordinary  appliances  of  society.  On  the  contrary,  the  utilitarian  spu-it 
of  the  day  labors  to  erase  every  inequality  from  the  surface  of  the 
American  town,  substituting  convenience  for  appearance.  It  is  proba- 
ble there  is  no  one  who,  in  the  end,  would  not  give  a  preference  to 
these  new  improvements  for  a  permanent  residence  ;  but  it  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  so  far  as  the  landscape  is  concerned,  the  customs  of  the 
middle  ages  constructed  much  the  most  picturesque  and  striking  col- 
lections of  human  habitations.  Indeed,  it  is  scai'cely  possible  for  the 
mind  to  conceive  of  objects  of  this  nature,  that  are  thrown  together 
with  liner  cH'ccts,  tlian  are  to  be  met  with  among  the  mountainous 
regions,  in  particular,  of  Europe.  We  illustrate  one  or  two  that  are 
to  be  met  with  in  the  Apennines,  and  the  Alps,  and  even  in  (Jer- 
many,  as  proofs  of  what  Ave  say.    The     eye,  of  itself.  Mill   tcjich   tlie 


A  M  V.  i;  I  C  A  N       AND       E  U  R  O  P  E  A  N       SCENERY.  6*7 

reader,  that  Riclimoud  aud  Boston,  and  Washington  and  Baltimore, 
and  half-a-dozen  other  American  towns  that  do  possess  more  or  less  of 
an  unequal  surface,  must  yield  the  palm  to  those  gloriously  beautifid 
objects  of  the  old  world.  When  it  is  remembered,  too,  how  much 
time  has  multiplied  these  last,  it  can  be  seen  that  there  are  large  dis- 
tricts in  the  mountain  regions  of  the  other  hemisphere,  that  enjoy 
this  superiority  over  us,  if  superiority  it  can  be  called,  to  possess  the 
picturesque,  at  the  expense  of  the  convenient.  The  imagination  can 
scarcely  equal  the  pictures  of  this  nature  that  often  meet  the  eye  in 
the  southern  countries  of  Europe.  Villages,  with  the  chiselled  outlines 
of  castles,  gray,  sombre,  but  distinct,  are  often  seen,  perched  on  the 
summits  of  rocky  heights,  or  adhering,  as  it  might  be,  to  their  sides,  ia 
situations  that  are  frequently  even  appalling,  and  which  invariably 
lend  a  character  of  peculiar  beauty  to  the  view.  There  are  parts  of 
Europe  in  which  the  traveller  encountei'S  these  ol)jects  in  great  num- 
bers, and  if  an  American,  they  never  fail  to  attract  his  attention,  as 
the  wigwam  and  the  bark  canoe,  and  the  prairie  with  lines  of  l^isons, 
would  catch  the  eye  of  a  wayfarer  from  the  old  world.  To  these 
humbler  mountain  pictures,  must  be  added  many  a  castle  and  strong- 
hold of  royal,  or  semi-royal  origin,  that  are  met  with  on  the  summits 
of  abrupt  and  rocky  eminences  farther  north.  Germany  has  many  of 
these  strong-holds,  which  ai'C  kejit  up  to  the  present  day  and  which 
are  found  to  be  useful  as  places  of  security,  as  they  are  certainly  pecu- 
liar and  interesting  ia  the  landscape. 

It  has  often  been  said  by  scientific  writers,  that  this  country  affords 
many  signs  of  an  origin  more  recent  than  the  surface  of  Europe.  The 
proofs  cited  are  the  greater  depths  of  the  ravines,  wrought  by  the 
action  of  the  waters  following  the  courses  of  the  torrents,  and  the 
greater  and  general  aspect  of  antiquity  that  is  impressed  on  natural  ob- 
jects in  the  other  hemisphere.     This  theory,  however,  has  met  witli  a 


68  AMERICAN      AND      KUIIOPEAN      SCENERY. 

distiiiguislied  opponent  in  our  own  time.  Witliout  entering  at  all  into 
tlie  merits  of  tULs  controversy,  we  shall  admit  that  to  the  ordinary  eye 
America  generally  is  impressed  with  an  air  of  freshness,  youthfulness, 
and  in  many  instances,  to  use  a  coarse  but  expressive  term,  rawness, 
that  are  seldom,  if  ever,  met  with  in  Europe.  It  might  perhaps  be 
easy  to  account  for  this  by  the  labors  of  man,  alone,  though  we  think 
that  natural  objects  contribute  their  full  share  towards  deepening  the 
picture.  We  know  of  no  mountain  summits  on  this  side  of  the  Atlan- 
tic that  wear  the  hoary  hues  of  hundreds  that  are  seen  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water ;  and  nearly  everywhere  in  this  country  that  the  eye 
rests  on  a  niountain-to]),  it  encounters  a  rounded  outline  of  no  very 
decided  tints,  unless,  indeed,  it  may  actually  encounter  verdure.  To 
our  eye,  this  character  of  youthfulness  is  very  strongly  perceptilde 
throughout  those  portions  of  the  republic  with  which  we  are  per- 
sonally acquainted,  and  we  say  this  witht)ut  I'cference  to  the  recent 
settlements,  which  necessarily  partake  qf  this  character,  but  to  the 
oldest  and  most  finished  of  our  own  landscapes.  The  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  for  instance,  have  not  the  impress  of  time  as  strongly  marked 
on  their  heights  and  headlands,  and  bays,  and  even  mountains,  as 
tlie  banks  of  the  Rhine  ;  and  we  have  often  even  fancied  that 
this  distinguishing  feature  between  the  old  and  new  worlds  is  to  be 
traced  on  nearly  every  object  of  nature  or  art.  Doubtless  the  latter 
has  l)een  the  principal  agent  in  pi-uducing  these  effects ;  but  it  is  unde- 
nial)le  that  they  form  a  leading  point  of  distinction  in  the  general 
charactei-  of  the  scenery  of  the  two  continents.  As  for  England,  it  has 
a  shorn  and  shaven  aspect  that  reminds  one  of  the  husbandman  in  his 
Sunday's  attires ;  for  \\e  ha^'e  seen  that  island  in  February,  when,  owing 
to  tlie  great  quantity  of  its  grain  and  the  prevalent  humidity  of  the 
atiii()s])hcre,  it  really  appeared  to  us  to  possess  more  verdure  than  it 
dill  ill  the  subsequent  July  and  August. 


AiMEKICAN      AND      EUKOl'EAN      SCENERY.  (j'J 

Tliere  is  one  feature  in  European  scenery,  generally,  more  pi-eva- 
lent,  however,  in  Catholic  than  in  other  countries,  to  which  we  must 
allude  before  we  close.  The  bourg,  or  town,  with  its  gray  castellated 
outhnes,  and  possilily  with  walls  of  the  middle  ages,  is,  almost  invaria- 
bly, clustered  around  the  high,  pointed  roofs  and  solemn  towers  of  the 
church.  AVitli  us,  how  different  is  the  effect !  Half  a  dozen  ill-shaped, 
and  yet  pretending  cupolas,  and  other  ambitious  objects,  half  the  time 
in  painted  wood,  just  peer  above  the  viEage,  while  the  most  aspiring 
roof  is  almost  invariably  that  of  the  tavern.  It  may  be  easy  enough 
to  account  for  this  difference,  and  to  offer  a  sufficient  apology  for  its 
existence.  But  to  the  observant  lover  of  the  picturesque  the  effect  is 
not  only  unpleasant  but  often  repulsive.  No  one  of  ordinary  liberality 
would  wish  to  interfere  with  freedom  of  conscience,  in  order  to  obtain 
ftne  landscapes  ;  but  this  ls  one  of  the  hundred  instances  in  which  the 
thoughtful  man  finds  reason  to  regret  that  the  church,  as  it  exists 
among  us,  is  not  really  more  Cathohc. 

To  conclude,  we  concede  to  Europe  much  the  noblest  scenery,  in  its 
Alps,  Pyi'enees,  and  Apennines ;  in  its  objects  of  art,  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  in  all  those  effects  which  depend  on  time  and  association,  in  its 
monuments,  and  in  this  impress  of  the  past  which  may  be  said  to  be 
reflected  in  its  countenance ;  while  we  claim  for  America  the  freshness 
of  a  most  promising  youth,  and  a  species  of  natural  radiance  that  carries 
the  mind  with  reverence  to  the  source  of  all  that  is  e;lorious  around  us. 


y.  ,/  ,>/<;.. ^^ 


THE    CATSKILL    MOUNTAINS. 

BY     WASHINGTON     IRVING. 

The  Catskill,  Katskill,  or  Cat  Eiver  Mouutaius  derived  tlieir  name, 
in  the  time  of  the  Dutch  domination,  from  the  Catamounts  by 
which  they  were  infested ;  and  which,  with  the  bear,  the  wolf,  and 
the  deer,  are  still  to  be  found  in  some  of  their  most  difficult  recesses. 
The  interior  of  these  mountains  is  in  the  highest  degree  wild  and 
romantic ;  here  are  rocky  precipices  mantled  with  primeval  forests ; 
deep  gorges  walled  in  by  beetling  cliffs,  with  torrents  tumbling  as  it 
were  from  the  sky ;  and  savage  glens  rarely  trodden  excepting  by  the 
hunter.  With  all  this  internal  rudeness,  the  aspect  of  these  mountains 
toward  the  Hudson  at  times  is  eminently  bland  and  beautiful,  sloping 
down  into  a  country  softened  by  cultivation,  and  bearing  much  of  the 
rich  character  of  Italian  scenery  about  the  sku-ts  of  the  Apennines. 

The  Catskills  form  an  advanced  post,  or  lateral  sjiur  of  the  great 
Alleganian  or  Appalachian  system  of  mountains  which  sweeps  through 
the  inteiior  of  our  continent,  from  Southwest  to  Northeast,  from 
Alabama  to  the  extremity  of  Maine,  for  nearly  fourteen  hundi-ed 
miles,  belting  the  whole  of  our  original  confederacy,  and  rivalling  our 


72  THE      CATSKILL      MOUNTAINS. 

great  s}'stem  of  lakes  in  extent  and  grandeur.  Its  vast  ramifications 
comprise  a  ninnl)er  of  parallel  chains  and  lateral  groups  ;  such  as  the 
Cumberland  Mountains,  the  Blue  Eidge,  the  Alleganies,  the  Dela- 
ware and  Lehigh,  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  the  Green  Mountains 
of  Vermont,  and  the  White  Mountains  of  'New  Hampshire.  In  many 
of  these  vast  ranges  or  sierras,  nature  still  reigns  in  indomitable  wild- 
uess:  theii-  rocky  ridges,  their  rugged  clefts  and  defiles,  teem  with 
magnificent  vegetation.  Here  are  locked  up  mighty  forests  that  have 
never  been  invaded  by  the  axe ;  deep  umbrageous  valleys  where  the 
virgin  soil  has  never  been  outraged  l)y  the  plough  ;  bright  streams 
flowing  in  untiisked  idleness,  unburtheued  by  commerce,  unchecked 
by  the  mill-dam.  This  mountain  zone  is  in  fact  the  great  poetical 
region  of  our  country ;  resisting,  hke  the  tribes  which  once  inhabited 
it,  the  taming  hand  of  cultivation ;  and  maintaining  a  hallowed  ground 
for  fancy  and  the  muses.  It  is  a  magnificent  and  all-pervading  feature, 
that  might  liave  given  our  country  a  name,  and  a  poetical  one,  had 
not  the  all-controlling  jiowers  of  common-place  determined  otherwise. 
Tlie  Catskill  Mountains,  as  I  have  observed,  maintain  all  the  inter- 
nal A\ildness  of  the  laliyrinth  of  mountains  with  which  they  are  con- 
nected. Their  detaclu'd  position,  overlooking  a  wide  lowland  region, 
\\  itli  tlic  majestic  Hudson  rolhng  through  it,  has  given  them  a  distinct 
character,  and  rendered  them  at  all  times  a  rallying  point  for  romance 
and  fable.  Much  of  the  fanciful  associations  with  which  they  have 
l)een  clothed  may  be  owing  to  theii"  being  peculiarly  sidgect  to  those 
])eautiful  atmospherical  eft'ects  which  constitute  one  of  the  great 
charms  of  Hudson  liiver  scenery.  To  me  they  have  ever  been  the 
fairy  region  of  the  Hudson.  I  speak,  however,  from  early  impres- 
sions ;  made  in  the  happy  days  of  boyhood;  wlu'n  all  the  world  liad 
a  tinge  of  fairy  land.  I  shall  never  forget  my  first  view  of  these 
mountains.     It  was  in  the  coui-se  of  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  the 


THE      CATSKILL      MOUNTAINS.  73 

good  old  times  before  steamboats  aud  railroads  liad  driven  all  poetry 
aud  romance  out  of  travel.  A  voyage  up  tlie  Hudson  in  tbose  days, 
was  equal  to  a  voyage  to  Europe  at  present,  and  cost  almost  as  mucli 
time :  but  we  enjoyed  tLe  river  then ;  we  relished  it  as  we  did  our  wine, 
sip  by  sip,  not,  as  at  present,  gulping  all  down  at  a  draught  without 
tasting  it.  My  whole  voyage  up  the  Hudson  was  full  of  wonder  and 
romance.  I  was  a  lively  boy,  somewhat  imaginative^  of  easy  faith,  and 
prone  to  relish  every  thing  which  partook  of  the  marvellous.  Among 
the  passengers  on  board  of  the  sloop  was  a  veteran  Indian  trader,  on 
his  way  to  the  lakes  to  traffic  with  the  natives.  He  had  discovered  my 
l^ropensity,  and  amused  himself  throughout  the  voyage  by  telling  me 
Indian  legends  and  grotesque  stories  about  every  noted  place  on  the 
river,  such  as  Spuyten  Devil  Creek,  the  Tappan  Sea,  the  Devil's  Dans- 
Kammer,  and  other  hobgoblin  places.  The  Catskill  Mountains  espe- 
cially called  forth  a  host  of  lanciful  traditions.  We  were  all  day 
slowly  tiding  along  in  sight  of  them,  so  that  he  had  full  time  to  weave 
his  whimsical  narratives.  In  these  mountains  he  told  me,  accordine:  to 
Indian  belief,  was  kept  the  great  treasury  of  storm  and  sunshine,  for 
the  region  of  the  Hudson.  An  old  squaw  spirit  had  charge  of  it,  who 
dwelt  on  the  highest  peak  of  the  mountain.  Here  she  kept  Day  and 
Night  shut  up  in  her  wigwam,  letting  out  only  one  of  them  at  a  time.  She 
made  new  moons  every  month,  and  hung  them  up  in  the  sky,  cutting 
up  the  old  ones  into  stars.  The  great  Manitou,  or  master  sjiirit,  employ- 
ed her  to  manufactui-e  clouds ;  sometimes  she  wove  them  out  of  cob- 
webs, gossamers,  and  morning  dew,  and  sent  them  off  flake  after  flake, 
to  float  in  the  air  aud  give  light  summei'  showers — sometimes  she 
would  Ijrew  up  black  thunder-storms,  and  send  down  drenching  rains ; 
to  swell  the  streams  and  sweep  every  thing  away.  He  had  many 
stories,  also,  about  mischievous  spirits  who  infested  the  mountains  in 
the  shape  of  animals,  and  played  all  kinds  of  pranks  ui^on  Indian 
10 


74  THE      CATSKILL      MOUNTAINS. 

Iiuntcrs,  decoying  tliem  into  quagmifes  and  morasses,  or  to  tlie  liriuks 
of  torrents  and  ]»recipices."  All  these  were  doled  out  to  me  as  I  lay 
on  tlie  deck  througliout  a  long  summer's  day,  gazing  upon  tliese  moun- 
tains, the  ever-changing  shapes  and  lines  dt'  ^\hich  appeared  to  realize 
tlie  mati'it-al  intlufiu-cs  in  question — sometimes  they  seemed  to  ajv 
})roacli ;  at  others  to  recede;  during  the  heat  of  the  day  they  almost 
melted  into  a  snltiy  haze  ;  as  the  day  declined  they  deepened  in  tone ; 
tlicir  summits  were  1)righteued  by  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  and  later 
in  tlie  evening  their  whole  outline  was  printed  in  deep  purple  against 
an  amber  sky.  As  I  beheld  them  thus  shifting  continually  before  my 
eye,  and  listened  to  the  marvellous  legends  of  the  trader,  a  host  of 
fanciful  notions  concerning  them  was  conjured  into  my  brain,  which 
have  haunted  it  ever  since. 

As  to  the  Indian  superstitions  concerning  the  treasury  of  storms 
and  sunshine,  and  the  iloud-weaving  spirits,  they  may  have  been  sug- 
gested by  the  atmos] (helical  phenomena  of  these  mountains,  the  clouds 
which  gather  round  their  summits  and  the  thousand  aerial  eftects  which 
indicate  the  changes  of  weather  over  a  great  extent  of  country.  Tliey 
are  epitomes  of  our  variable  climate,  and  are  stamped  with  all  its 
\acissitudes.  And  here  let  me  say  a  word  intavor  of  those  ^-icissitudes 
whicli  are  too  often  made  the  subject  of  exclusive  repining.  If  they 
annoy  us  occasionally  1iy  changes  fi'om  hot  to  cold,  from  wet  to  dry, 
they  give  us  one  nf  the  most  beautiful  criiiiatcs  in  the  world.  They 
give  us  the  luilliant  sunshine  of  the  south  of  Europe  with  the  fresh 
verdure  of  the  north.  They  float  our  summer  sky  with  clouds  of  gor- 
geous tints  or  fleecy  whiteness,  and  send  down  cooling  showers  to  refresh 
the  panting  earth  and  keep  it  green.     Our  seasons  are  all  poetical ;  the 

*  Some  of  those  Indian  superetitions  about  the  Catskill  Mountains  have  already  been  spoken 
of  in  u  )iosL<cri|it  to  lliii  Van  Winkle,  in  the  revised  edition  of  the  Sketch  ]iook. 


THE       CAT.SKILL       MOUNTAINS.  ^5 

plienoinena  of  our  lieavens  are  full  of  sublimity  and  beauty.  Winter  Avitli 
iLs  lias  none  of  its  proverlnal  gloom.  It  may  have  its  howling  winds,  and 
thrilling  frosts,  and  whirling  snow-storms ;  but  it  has  also  its  long  inter- 
vals of  cloudless  sunshine,  when  the  snow-clad  earth  gives  redoubled 
brightness  to  the  da}' ;  when  at  night  the  stai's  beam  with  intensest  lusti'e, 
or  the  moon  Hoods  the  whole  landscape  with  her  most  hmj)id  radiance 
—  and  then  the  joyous  outbreak  of  our  spring,  bursting  at  once  into 
leaf  and  blossom,  redundant  with  vegetation,  and  vociferous  with  life ! 
— ■  and  the  splendors  of  our  summer ;  its  morning  voluptuousness  and 
evening  glory ;  its  airy  palaces  of  sun-gilt  clouds  piled  up  in  a  deeji  azure 
sky ;  and  its  gusts  of  tempest  of  almost  tropical  grandeur,  when  the  forked 
hghtning  and  the  bellowing  thunder  volley  from  the  battlements  of 
heaven  and  shake  the  sultry  atmosphere  —  and  the  sublime  melancholy 
of  our  autumn,  magnificent  in  its  decay,  withering  doAvn  the  j^omp  and 
pride  of  a  woodland  country,  yet  reflecting  back  from  its  yellow  forests 
the  golden  serenity  of  the  sky  —  surely  we  may  say  that  in  our  climate 
"  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  showeth 
forth  his  handy  work  :  day  unto  day  uttereth  speech ;  and  night  unto 
night  showeth  knowledge." 

A  word  more  concerning  the  Catskills.  It  is  not  the  Indians  only 
to  whom  they  have  been  a  kind  of  wonderdand.  In  the  early  times 
of  the  Dutch  dynasty  we  find  them  themes  of  golden  speculation 
among  even  the  sages  of  New  Amsterdam.  Durmg  the  administi'ation 
of  Wilhelmus  Kieft  there  was  a  meeting  between  the  Director  of  the 
New  Netherlands  and  the  chiefs  of  the  Mohawk  nation  to  conclude  a 
treaty  of  peace.  On  this  occasion  the  Director  was  accompanied  by 
Mynheer  Adi'iaen  Van  der  Donk,  Doctor  of  Laws,  and  subsecpiently 
historian  of  the  colony.  The  Indian  chiefs,  as  usual,  painted  and  deco- 
rated themselves  on  the  ceremony.  One  of  them  in  so  doing  made  use 
of  a  pigment,  the  weight  and  shining  appearance  of  which  attracted 


76  THE      CATSKILL      MOUNTAINS. 

the  notice  of  Kiot't  and  Lis  learned  coini)anion,  -wlio  snspected  it  to  1)6 
ore.  They  procured  a  lump  of  it,  and  took  it  tack  with  them  to  New 
Amsterdam.  Here  it  was  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  lohannes  De  la 
Montagne,  an  eminent  Huguenot  doctor  of  medicine,  one  of  the  counsel- 
lors of  the  New  Netherlands.  The  su[)posed  ore  was  foi'thwith  jnit  in  a 
crucible  and  assayed,  and  to  the  great  exultation  of  the  jimto  yielded 
two  j)ieces  of  gold,  worth  about  three  guilders.  This  golden  discovery 
was  kept  a  pi'ofound  secret.  As  soon  as  the  treat)-  of  peace  was  adjusted 
with  the  Mohawks,  William  Kieft  sent  a  trusty  officer  and  a  iMH-tj 
of  men  under  guidance  of  an  Indian,  who  undertook  to  conduct  them 
to  the  place  whence  the  ore  had  been  found.  We  have  no  account  of 
this  golddiunting  expedition,  nor  of  its  whereabouts,  excepting  that  it 
was  somewhere  on  the  Catskill  Mountains.  The  exploring  party 
brought  back  a  bucketful  of  ore.  Like  the  former  specimen  it  was 
suljnritted  to  the  crucible  of  De  la  Montagne,  and  was  equally  produc- 
tive of  gold.  All  this  we  have  on  the  authority  of  Doctor  Van  der 
Donk,  who  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  process  and  its  result,  and  re- 
cords the  whole  in  his  Description  of  the  New  Netherlands. 

William  Kieft  now  dispatched  a  confidential  agent,  one  Arent  Cor- 
sen,  to  convey  a  sackfid  of  the  precious  ore  to  Holland.  Corsen  em- 
barked at  New  Haven  in  a  British  vessel  bound  to  England,  whence 
lie  was  to  cross  to  Kotterdam.  The  ship  set  sail  about  Christmas, 
but  never  reached  her  port.     All  on  board  perished. 

In  IGil,  when  the  redoubtable  Petrus  Stuyvesant  took  command 
of  the  New  Netherlands,  William  Kieft  embarked,  on  his  return  to 
Holland,  provided  with  further  specimens  of  the  Catskill  Moimtain 
ore;  from  which  lie  doubtless  indulged  golden  anticipations.  A  similar' 
fate  attended  liiiii  witli  that  wliich  had  befallen  his  agent.  The  shij)  in 
which  he  had  endjurketl  was  cast  away,  autl  he  and  his  treasure  were 
swallowed  in  the  waves. 

II.iv  cloM's  the  -..Idcu  Ic-viid  ofthc  Cal.-kills  ;    luil  aiiut licr  ..iic  ..f 


THE       CATS  KILL       MOUNTAINS.  77 

similar  import  succeeds.  In  1649,  about  two  years  after  tlie  sliip- 
wreck  of  AVillielmus  Kieft,  there  was  again  rumor  of  precious  metals 
in  these  mountains.  Mpiheer  Brant  Arent  Van  Sleclitenhorst,  agent 
of  the  Patroon  of  Reusselaerswyck,  had  purchased  in  Ijehalf  of  the 
Patroon  a  tract  of  the  Catskill  lands,  and  leased  it  out  in  farms. 
A  Dutch  lass  in  the  household  of  one  of  the  farmers  found  one  day  a 
glittermg  substance,  which,  on  being  examined,  was  pi'onounced  silver 
ore.  Brant  Van  Slechtenhorst  forthwith  sent  his  son  from  Rensselaere- 
wyck  to  explore  the  mountains  in  quest  of  the  supposed  mines.  The 
young  man  put  up  in  the  farmer's  house,  which  had  recently  been 
erected  on  the  margin  of  a  mountain  stream.  Scarcely  was  he  housed 
when  a  furious  storm  burst  foi-th  on  the  mountains.  The  thunders 
rolled,  the  lightnings  flashed,  the  rain  came  down  in  cataracts ;  the 
stream  was  suddenly  swollen  to  a  furious  torrent  thirty  feet  deep  ;  the 
farm-house  and  all  its  contents  were  swept  away,  and  it  was  only  l)y 
dint  of  excellent  swimming  that  young  Slechtenhorst  saved  his  own 
life  and  the  lives  of  his  horses.  Shortly  after  this  a  feud  broke  out 
between  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  the  Patroon  of  Rensselaerswyck  on 
account  of  the  right  and  title  to  the  Catskill  Mountains,  in  the 
course  of  which  the  elder  Slechtenhorst  was  taken  captive  by  the 
Potentate  of  the  New  Nethei'lands  and  thrown  in  prison  at  New  Am- 
sterdam. 

We  have  met  with  no  record  of  any  further  attempt  to  get  at  the 
treasures  of  the  Catskills ;  adventurers  may  have  been  discoui'aged  by 
the  ill  luck  which  appeared  to  attend  all  who  meddled  with  them,  as 
if  they  were  under  the  guardian  keej)  of  the  same  spirits  or  goblins 
who  once  haunted  the  mountains  and  ruled  over  the  weather. 

That  gold  and  silver  ore  was  actually  procm-ed  from  these  moun- 
tains m  days  of  yore,  we  have  historical  e^■idence  to  prove,  and  the  re- 
corded word  of  Adriaen  Van  der  Donk,  a  man  of  weight,  who  was  an 


78  THE      CAT8KILL      MOUNTAINS. 

eye-witness.  If  gold  and  silver  were  once  to  l>e  found  there,  they  must 
be  there  at  i)resent.  It  remains  to  be  seen,  in  these  gold-hunting  days, 
whether  tlie  quest  will  be  renewed,  and  some  daring  adventui-er,  fired 
witli  a  true  Calif >iniaii  s]>irit,  will  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  these 
niouiitaius  and  oiien  a  i^'ohlcn  reo'ion  on  the  borders  of  the  Hudson. 


A    DISSOLVING    VIEW. 


BY      MISS      COOPER. 

Autumn  is  the  seasou  for  day-dreams.  Wherever,  at  least,  an 
American  landscape  shows  its  wooded  heights  dyed  with  the  glory  of 
Octoher,  its  lawns  and  meadows  decked  with  colored  groves,  its 
broad  and  limpid  waters  reflecting  the  same  bright  hues,  there  the 
l)rilliant  novelty  of  the  scene,  that  strange  beauty  to  which  the  eye 
never  becomes  wholly  accustomed,  would  seem  to  arouse  the  fancy  to 
unusual  activity.  Images,  quaint  and  strange,  rise  unbidden  and  fill 
the  mind,  until  we  pause  at  length  to  make  sure  that,  amid  the  novel 
aspect  of  the  country,  its  inhabitants  are  still  the  same ;  we  look  again 
to  cou\'ince  ourselves  that  the  pillared  cottages,  the  wooden  churches, 
the  brick  trading-houses,  the  long  and  many- windowed  taverns,  are  still 
what  they  were  a  month  earlier. 

The  softening  haze  of  the  Indian  summer,  so  common  at  the  same 
season,  adds  to  the  illusory  character  of  the  view.  The  mountains 
have  grown  higher ;  their  massive  forms  have  acquired  a  new  dignity 
from  the  airy  veil  which  enfolds  them,  just  as  the  di'apery  of  ancient 
marbles  serves  to  give  additional  grace  to  the  movement  of  a  limb,  or  to 


80  A      DISSOLVING      VIEW. 

mark  more  iiolilv  the  proportions  oftlic  form  over  wliic-li  it  is  thrown. 
The  fliffereut  ridges,  the  lesser  knolls,  rise  before  us  with  new  impor- 
tance ;  the  distances  of  the  perepective  are  magnified ;  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  the  comparative  relations  which  the  dififerent  objects  bear 
to  each  other,  are  revealed  with  a  beautiful  accuracy  wanting  in  a 
clearer  atmosphere,  where  the  unaided  eye  is  more  apt  to  err. 

There  is  always  somethuig  of  uncertainty,  of  caprice  if  you  will, 
connected  with  our  American  autuuui,  Avhich  fixes  the  attention  auew, 
every  succeeding  year,  and  adds  to  the  fanciful  character  of  the  season. 
The  beauty  of  spring  is  of  a  more  assured  nature ;  the  same  tints  rise 
year  after  year  in  her  verdm-e,  and  in  her  blossoms,  but  autumn  is 
what  our  friends  in  France  call  "  mie  heaute  journaliere^''  variable, 
chanii'eable,  not  alike  twice  in  succession,  gay  and  brilliant  yesterday, 
more  languid  and  pale  to-day.  The  hill-sides,  the  difterent  groves,  the 
single  trees,  vai'y  from  year  to  year  under  the  combined  influences  of 
clouds  and  sunshine,  the  soft  haze,  or  the  clear  frost ;  the  maple  or 
oak,  which  last  October  was  gorgeous  crimson,  may  choose  this  season  to 
wear  the  golek'u  tint  of  the  chestnut,  or  the  pale  yellow  of  duller  trees ; 
the  ash,  which  was  straw-color,  may  become  dark  purple.  One  never 
knows  ])efoi'ehand  exactly  what  to  expect ;  there  is  always  some  varia- 
tion, occasionally  a  strange  contrast.  It  is  like  awaiting  the  sunset  of 
a  brilliant  day;  we  feel  confident  that  the  evening  sky  will  be  beauti- 
ful, but  what  gorgeous  clouds  or  what  pearly  tints  may  appear  to 
delight  the  eye,  no  one  can  foretell. 

It  was  a  soft  hazy  morning,  early  in  October.  The  distant  hUls, 
with  their  rounded,  dome-like  heights,  lising  in  every  direction,  had 
a.ssumed  on  the  surface  of  their  crowning  woods  a  rich  tint  of  l)ronze, 
as  though  the  sw<'lling  suunnits,  gleaming  in  the  suidiglit,  were 
wrougiit  in  fivftcd  ornaments  of  that  metal.  Here  and  there  a  scarlet 
maple  stood  in  full  colored  beauty,  amid  surroumliug  groves  of  green. 


A      DISSOLVING      VIEW.  81 

A  group  of  young  oaks  close  at  liand  liad  also  felt  tlie  influence  of  tlie 
frosty  autumnal  dews';  their  foliage,  generally,  was  a  lively  green, 
worthy  of  June,  wholly  unlike  decay,  and  yet  each  tree  was  touched 
here  and  there  with  vivid  snatches  of  the  brightest  red ;  the  smaller 
twigs  close  to  the  trunk  forming  hrilliant  crimson  tufts,  like  knots  of 
ribbon.  One  might  have  fancied  them  a  baud  of  young  knights,  wear- 
ing their  ladies'  colors  over  their  hearts.  A  pretty  flowering  dogwood 
close  at  hand,  with  delicate  shaft  and  airy  branches,  flushed  with  its 
own  pecuhar  tint  of  richest  lake,  was  perchance  the  lady  of  the  grove, 
the  beauty  whose  colors  were  fluttering  on  the  breasts  of  the  knightly 
oaks  on  either  side.  The  tiny  seedling  maples,  with  their  delicate 
leaflets,  were  also  in  color,  in  choice  shades  of  scarlet,  crimson,  and 
jjink,  like  a  new  race  of  flowers  blooming  about  the  roots  of  the 
autumnal  forest. 

We  were  sitting  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine,  near  a  projecting 
cliff  which  overlooked  the  country  for  some  fifteen  miles  or  more ;  the 
lake,  the  rural  town,  and  the  farms  in  the  valley  beyond,  lying  at  our 
feet  like  a  beautiful  map.  A  noisy  flock  of  blue  jays  were  chattering 
among  the  oaks  whose  branches  overshadowed  our  seat,  and  a  busy 
squirrel  was  dropping  his  winter  store  of  chestnuts  from  another  tree 
close  at  hand.  A  gentle  breeze  from  the  south  came  rustling  through 
the  colored  woods,  and  already  there  was  an  autumnal  sound  in  their 
murmurs.  There  is  a  difierence  in  the  music  of  the  woods  as  the 
seasons  change.  In  winter,  when  the  waving  limbs  are  bare,  there  is 
more  of  unity  in  the  deej^  wail  of  the  winds  as  they  sweep  through 
the  forests ;  in  summer  the  rustling  foliage  gives  some  higher  and 
more  cheerful  notes  to  the  geuei'al  harmony ;  and  there  is  also  a  change 
of  key  from  the  softer  murmurs  of  the  fresh  foHage  of  early  summer, 
to  the  sharp  tones  of  the  dry  and  withering  leaves  in  October. 

There  is  something  of  a  social  spirit  in  the  brilliancy  of  our  Ame- 
11 


82  A      DISSOLVING      VIEW. 

rican  tiutuiiui.  All  tlie  glory  of  tlie  colored  forest  would  r<eeiu  dis- 
played for  liumau  eyes  to  enjoy ;  tliere  Ls,  iu  its  earlier  stages,  an  aii- 
of  festive  gayety  wliicli  accords  well  with  tlie  clieerful  lal)ors  of  the  sea- 
son, and  tliere  is  a  ricliness  in  tlie  spectacle  worthy  of  the  harvest- 
home  of  a  fruitful  laud.  I  should  not  care  to  pass  the  season  in  the 
wilderness  which  still  covers  large  portions  of  the  country ;  either 
winter  or  summer  should  be  the  time  for  roaming  in  those  boundless 
woods ;  but  with  Octoljer  let  us  return  to  a  peopled  region.  A  broad 
extent  of  forest  is  no  doubt  necessary  to  the  magnificent  spectacle, 
but  there  should  also  be  broken  woods,  scattered  groves,  and  isolated 
trees ;  and  it  strikes  me  that  the  quiet  fields  of  man,  and  his  cheerful 
dwellings,  should  also  have  a  place  in  the  gay  picture.  Yes  ;  we  felt 
convinced  that  an  autumn  view  t)f  the  valley  at  our  feet  must  he  finer 
ill  its  present  A'aried  aspect,  than  in  past  ages  when  wholly  covered 
with  wood. 

The  hand  of  man  generally  improves  a  landscape.  The  earth  has 
been  given  to  him,  and  his  presence  in  Eden  is  natural ;  he  gives  life 
and  spirit  to  the  garden.  It  is  only  when  he  endeavors  to  rise  above 
his  true  part  of  laborer  and  husbandman,  when  he  assumes  the  cha- 
racter of  creator,  and  piles  you  up  hills,  pumps  you  up  a  I'iver,  scatters 
stones,  or  sprinkles  cascades,  that  he  is  apt  to  fail.  Generally  the 
grassy  meadow  in  the  valley,  the  winding  road  climbing  the  hill-side, 
the  cheerful  village  on  the  Ijank  of  the  stream,  give  a  higher  addi- 
tional interest  to  the  view ;  or  where  there  is  something  amiss  iu  the 
sceue,  it  is  when  there  is  some  evident  want  of  judgment,  or  good 
sense,  or  perhaps  some  proof  of  selfish  avaiice,  or  wastefulness,  as 
when  a  country  is  stripped  of  its  wood  to  fiU  the  pockets  or  feed  the 
fires  of  one  generation. 

It  is  true  thei'c  are  scenes  on  so  vast  a  scale,  scenes  so  striking  in 
themselves,  that  whatever  there  may  be  of  man  in  view  is  at  fii-st 


A       DISSOLVING       VIEW.  83 

wholly  ovei'looked ;  we  note  the  valley,  but  not  his  \dllages ;  we  sec  tlie 
winding  stream,  but  not  the  fisher's  skill';  even  in  these  instances, 
however,  after  the  first  vivid  impressions  produced  T)y  the  grandeur  of 
the  spectacle,  we  j^lease  ourselves  by  dwelling  on  the  lesser  features 
aA^'hile ;  and  after  wondering  on  the  Eighi-Kulm  at  the  sublime  array 
of  hoary  Alps  bounding  the  tlistant  horizon,  we  pause  to  note  the 
smoke  curling  from  the  hamlet  in  the  nearest  valley,  we  mark  the 
chalets  dotting  the  mountain-side,  or  the  white  sail  of  the  boat  making 
its  way  across  the  lake. 

Even  in  those  sublime  scenes,  where  no  trace  of  man  meets  the 
eye,  in  the  cheerless  monotony  of  the  stei:)pes  of  central  Asia,  in  the 
arid  deserts  of  Africa,  among  the  uninhabited  Andes,  or  in  the  bound- 
less forests  of  America,  it  is  the  absence  of  human  life  which  is  so 
highly  impressive  ;  and  if  other  portions  of  the  earth  were  not  peopled 
with  intellectual  beings,  mapped  out  by  them  and  marked  with  their 
works,  the  contrast  of  those  strange  solitudes  could  not  be  felt  by 
the  heart  of  the  wanderer. 

All  the  other  innumerable  tribes  of  animated  Ijcings  inhabiting 
this  world,  may  crowd  a  country,  and  scarcely  make  an  impression  on 
its  foce  which  the  winds  and  rains  of  a  few  seasons  will  not  wholly 
obhterate;  but  man,  in  his  most  savage  condition,  shall  raise  some 
fortification,  or  heap  over  the  bones  of  his  heroes  some  vast  misshapen 
pile,  which  outlasts  perhaps  the  existence  of  a  whole  race.  The  south- 
eastern portion  of  Europe  is  a  vast  level  region,  resembling  in  many 
particulars  the  steppes  of  central  Asia,  or  the  great  praii-ies  of  om- 
own  country ;  until  recently  it  lay  a  broad  unpeoi^led  waste,  no  part 
of  which  had  been  brought  under  cultivation;  but  in  the  midst  of 
these  grassy  solitudes  rise  rude  ancient  tumuli,  or  barrows,  whose 
origin  goes  back  to  periods  anterior  to  history;  nomadic  shepherd 
tribes  passed  and  repassed  the  ground  for  ages,  but  knew  nothino-  of 


84  A      D  I S  S  0  L  V  I  N  G       V  I  E  W. 

their  story.  Similar  tumuli  are  numerous  iu  westeni  Asia  al^o,  aiul, 
like  the  mounds  of  our  own  continent,  they  doubtless  belong  to  a  rude 
and  ancient  race.  These  old  works  of  earth,  whose  great  piles  refuse 
to  reveal  the  names  of  those  who  reared  them,  never  fail  to  excite  a 
pecuhar  interest ;  there  is  a  spirit  of  mystery  hovering  over  them 
beyond  what  is  connected  with  monuments  of  any  later  period,  even 
the  proudest  labors  in  stone ;  so  like  the  works  of  nature  in  this  re- 
spect, they  seem  to  possess  for  us  something  of  the  same  profound 
secrecy.  These  lasting  and  remarkable  tumuh,  or  mounds,  although 
they  produce  no  very  striking  effect  on  the  aspect  of  a  country,  yet 
have  an  important  place  in  the  long  array  of  works  which  give  a  pe- 
culiar character  to  the  lauds  which  man  has  once  held  as  his  o^ti. 

The  monuments  of  a  succeeding  age,  raised  by  a  more  skilful  peo- 
})lc,  are  much  more  pi'ominent.  Indeed  it  would  seem  as  if  man  had 
no  sooner  mastered  the  aii  of  architecture,  than  he  aimed  at  rivalling 
the  dignity  and  durability  of  the  woi-ks  of  natui-e  which  served  as 
his  models ;  he  i-esolved  that  his  walls  of  vast  stones  should  stand  iu 
place  as  long  as  the  rocks  from  which  they  were  hewn ;  that  his  col- 
umns and  his  arches  should  live  with  the  trees  and  branches  from 
which  they  were  copied  ;  he  determined  to  scale  the  heavens  with  his 
proud  towers  of  Babel.  The  durability  of  their  architecture  still  re- 
mains to  the  present  day  one  of  the  most  remarkable  characteristics 
of  those  ancient  ages.  Such  is  the  wonder  excited  in  the  minds  of 
the  most  skilful  architects  of  the  present  day  at  the  sight  of  the  im- 
mense masses  of  stone  transported  and  uplifted,  apparently  at  will,  by 
those  ancient  nations,  that  some  have  sujjposed  tliem  to  have  possessed 
mechanical  powei's  of  their  own,  lost  to  succeeding  ages,  and  not  yet 
regained  by  ourselves.  Certainly  it  would  appear  a  well-assured  fact, 
tliat  the  oldest  works  of  the  first  great  architects  have  been  the  most 
endui'ing  and  the  most  imposing  of  all  that  human  art  has  raised. 


A       i)  1  S  S  U  L  V  I  N  (i        \-  1  E  \V.  85 

How  uumy  centuries  were  required  to  ruin  Baliylon  !  AVitli  the  pro- 
phetic curse  of  desolation  hovering  over  her  towers  for  ages,  the  vio- 
lence of  a  dozen  generations  was  aroused  against  her,  nation  after 
nation  was  Ijrought  to  the  work,  ere  that  curse  was  fulfilled,  and  all 
her  pride  laid  m  the  dust ;  and  still  to-day  her  shapeless  ruins  break 
the  surface  of  the  level  desert  which  surrounds  them.  Look  at  the 
ancient  temples  of  India ;  look  at  Eg}'pt  with  her  wonderfid  works ; 
all  the  proudest  edifices  of  modern  times  may  yet  fall  to  the  ground, 
ere  those  Pyramids  are  ruined ;  they  may  see  the  last  future  acts  of 
the  earth's  story,  as  they  have  stood  mute  witnesses  of  a  thousand  past 
histories.  What  were  that  level  country  of  Egyjit,  that  muddy  Nile, 
without  the  Pyramids  and  the  surrounding  coeval  monuments  ! 

Look,  even  later,  at  the  works  of  Grecian  and  Roman  art.  Al- 
though Greece  and  Rome  were  the  chosen  prey  of  liarbarous  nations 
for  ages,  yet  not  all  the  fury  of  milhons  of  savages  could  utterly  de- 
stroy the  monuments  they  raised.  Study  the  ruined  temples,  and 
theatres,  and  tombs,  the  aqueducts,  the  bridges  of  those  ancient  na- 
tions. What  architectural  laliors  have  we  which  for  excellence  and 
beauty  will  compare  with  them  ?  For  thousands  of  years  they  have 
stood,  noble,  distinctive  features  of  the  lands  to  which  they  belong. 
The  little  temple  of  the  Sybil  seems,  to  modern  eyes,  as  much  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  surrounding  hills,  and  the  valley  of  Tivoli,  as  the 
evergreen  oaks  and  olive  trees,  ay,  as  the  stream  which  flings  itself 
over  the  rocks  at  its  feet.  What  were  the  Campagna,  without  its 
broken  aqueducts,  its  ancient  tombs  ?  What  were  Rome  itself  without 
its  ruins  ?  The  architectural  remains  of  those  old  works  still  give  to 
the  seven  hills,  and  the  broad  plain  about  them,  a  positive  beauty, 
which  their  modern  works,  imposing  as  they  are,  cannot  equal. 

It  is  well  for  us  that  those  races  of  old  undertook  such  nol)le 
labors.    May  we  not  l)elieve  that  there  was  something  Providential  in 


8G  A      DISSOLVING      V I K  \V. 

tlie  feeling  wliicli  led  tliem  to  erect  suoli  lasting  monuments  ?  They 
built  for  us.  Such  works  as  the  Pyi-amids,  and  their  cotemporary 
temples,  such  Avorks  as  those  of  Babel,  Psestum,  the  Coliseum,  the  Par- 
thenon, belong  to  the  race;  their  influence  is  not  confined  to  the  soil 
on  which  they  stand.  As  the  sun  of  Time  descends  to  complete  its 
course,  their  shadows  are  thrown  over  the  whole  earth. 

In  the  middle  ages,  after  Europe  had  become  Christian,  all  the 
edifices  of  sufficient  importance  to  give  character  to  a  country  were 
divided  in  two  great  classes;  they  were  the  Gothic  churches  and 
abbeys  of  religion,  or  the  fortified  castles  of  war.  It  is  rather  singular 
that  the  age  of  the  greatest  extent  of  religious  houses  should  also  have 
been  peculiarly  an  age  of  warfare ;  but  no  doubt  the  very  prevalence 
of  this  warhke  spirit  was  a  cause  of  the  increase  of  monarchism.  K 
the  dozen  hills  about  a  valley  were  each  crowned  with  a  castle,  and 
it'  lialt'  a  dozen  feuds  between  their  dift'erent  lords  laid  waste  the  sur- 
rounding country,  it  became  a  sort  of  necessity  for  a  Chi'istian  society 
that  one  house  of  peace,  at  least,  should  lie  in  the  meadows  of  the 
valley,  in  view  from  the  towers.  The  very  violence  of  the  age,  imited 
to  the  superstitions  nature  of  religion  at  the  time,  was  thus  no  doubt 
a  cause  of  the  great  size  and  riches  of  the  churches.  Louis  XI.  of 
France,  as  a  general  rule,  committed  some  act  of  cruelty  or  treachery 
every  morning,  and  then  sought  to  buy  a  pardou  in  the  evening  by 
some  j)ccuniary  favor  to  church  or  abbey;  and  there  were  in  those  days 
many  knights  and  barons  bold  wliose  consciences  were  appeased  by 
the  same  course  of  proceeding. 

Tlie  durability  of  the  works  of  the  middle  ages  —  although  they 
liad  lost  so  much  of  ancient  civilization  —  is  still  very  remarkable. 
Some  of  the  cathedrals,  the  castles,  and  the  bridges  of  those  days  are 
likely,  with  a  few  exceptions  here  and  thei-e,  to  outlast  modern  works 
of  the  same  natm-e  ;  certainly  they  may  outla.st  those  now  standing  in 


A      DISSOLVING      VIEW.  87 

this  country.  There  are  bridges  of  that  period  iu  the  wihlest  parts  of 
Europe,  so  bold  in  their  position,  spanning  gorges  so  deep,  springing 
from  precipices  so  abrupt,  that  the  people  of  later  days  gave  them  a 
magical  origin,  calling  them  "  Devils'  Bridges."  There  are  feudal  castles 
"with  walls  so  massive,  that  the  idea  of  razing  them  was  abandoned 
after  the  orders  to  do  so  had  been  given.  Their  vast  cathedrals,  whose 
noble  spires  still  rise  so  grandly  above  the  roofs  of  the  towns  to  wliich 
they  belong,  were  ages  in  building ;  some  of  these,  nay,  one  may  say 
many  of  them,  required  such  vast  sums  of  money,  and  such  a  long 
period  of  time  to  carry  out  the  great  designs  of  their  architects,  that 
tliey  have  remained  unfinished  to  the  2:)resent  hour.  They  not  only 
built  for  the  futui-e,  iu  those  days,  but  they  expected  posterity  to 
work  with  them ;  and  as  one  generation  lay  down  in  theii"  graves,  they 
called  another  generation  to  the  pious  labor. 

It  is  not  exactly  as  a  stranger  that  an  American  looks  at  these  re- 
mains of  feudal  days,  that  he  stands  liefore  the  half-ruined  walls  of 
their  castles ;  in  one  sense  we  also  have  an  interest  in  them.  Who  knows 
but  ancestors  of  our  own  may  have  been  among  the  squires  who 
crossed  that  drawbridge,  or  among  the  masons  who  l)uilt  the  walls, 
or  with  the  peasants  who  clustered  under  the  protection  of  the  banners 
of  yonder  ruined  hold?  At  any  rate  there  is  no  one  breathing  in 
Christendom  whose  present  fate,  j^erhaps  laoth  for  good  and  for  evil, 
has  not  been  in  some  measure  influenced  by  those  days  of  chivali'y  and 
superstitious  truth,  in  their  bearing  upon  civilized  society  at  large.  We 
Americans  are  as  much  the  children  of  those  European  ages,  as  the  pre- 
sent population  of  France  or  England. 

The  vast  extent  of  the  regions  over  which  these  ancient  monuments 
are  scattered,  the  different  series  of  them  on  the  same  soil  —  Druidical, 
Roman,  Gothic,  renaissance  and  modern  —  give  one  a  clearer  idea  than 
figures  can,  of  the  inuumeraljle  throngs  of  human  beings  which  have 


DISSOLVING      V  I  E  ■«•. 


preceded  tlie  present  tenants  of  tlie  ground,  and  so  fully  stamped  the 
impression  of  man  on  the  fiice  of  the  old  world.  The  plains,  the  hills, 
the  valleys,  the  cliffs,  the  bare  and  massive  mountains,  the  islands,  the 
very  caves  of  those  regions,  all  Ijcar  ancient  human  marks.  The  plains 
are  crowned  by  remains  of  Roman  roads ;  the  valleys  and  the  islands 
have  been  the  seat  of  old  monasteries,  or  perhaps  still  older  villas  ;  the 
hills,  the  clifts,  the  mountains,  are  crowned  with  the  ruined  towers  of 
feudal  days ;  the  wild  gorges  and  the  caves  have  been  the  haunts  of 
Imnded  robbers  and  outlaws,  or  of  solitary  hermits. 

The  caves  of  the  old  world,  more  especially  those  of  the  eastern 
and  southern  countries,  of  Syria,  Arabia,  Egypt,  Greece,  Italy,  have 
liad  a  strange  story  of  their  own.  Many  of  them  have  Ijeen  strong- 
holds, which  have  stood  siege  after  siege,  as  for  instance  those  of  Pales- 
tine and  Egypt.  Others  have  been  the  dens  of  robbers,  or  pii-ates. 
]\Iany,  cut  in  the  face  of  high  and  apparently  inaccessible  cliffs,  have 
been  u>ed  as  tombs,  and  are  more  or  less  carved  and  sculptured  within 
and  witliout;  such  are  frequently  seen  in  Syria  and  other  parts  of  Asia. 
In  southern  Italy  there  are  many  caves  in  the  face  of  the  elifls  of  the 
Apennines,  whose  openings  are  plainly  seen  from  the  highways  in  the 
valleys  below;  those  were  at  one  time,  when  Italy  was  overrun  by 
bar1)arous  heathen  nations,  the  refuge  of  Christian  hermits.  Proliably 
the  natural  caves  of  those  Eastern  lands  were  the  first  dwellings  of 
tlicir  cai'liest  pojiulation.  Thus  it  is  that  there  is  not  in  those  old 
countries  a  single  natural  featui'e  of  the  earth  upon  which  man  has  not 
set  his  seal,  from  the  c^ave  of  Machpelah  to  the  summit  of  the  Alj^ine 
mountain,  where  the  pale  gray  lines  of  the  distant  cross  are  faintly 
draw  u  against  the  sky. 

lliiw  (lifVci-ciit  from  all  this  is  the  aspect  of  our  own  country  !  It  is 
tnii'  fliat  our  tUthci-s,  with  amazing  ra]iidity,  have  changed  a  forest 
wilderness  into  a  civilized  and  populous  land.     But  the  fresh  civiliza- 


A       DISSOLVING      VIEW.  89 

tion  of  America  is  wholly  dift'erent  in  aspect  from  that  of  the  old 
world ;  there  is  no  Ijlendiug  of  the  old  and  the  new  in  this  country ; 
there  is  nothing  ohl  among  us.  If  we  were  endowed  with  ruins  we 
should  not  preserve  them ;  they  would  l)e  pulled  down  to  make  way 
for  some  novelty.  A  striking  instance  of  this  tendency  will  be  found  in 
the  fact  that  the  last  Dutch  house  in  New- York  has  disappeared.  For  a 
longtime  a  number  of  those  historical  way-marks  existed  in  the  older 
parts  of  the  town,  Ijut  now,  we  understand  that  the  last  high  gable,  the 
last  Dutch  walls,  have  disappeared  from  New  Amsterdam.  We  might 
have  supposed  that  occupying  so  little  space  as  they  did,  standing  in 
streets  Avith  Dutch  names,  owned  perhaps  by  men  of  Dutch  descent, 
one,  at  least,  of  these  relics  of  our  own  olden  time  might  have  been 
preserved.  But  no  ;  we  are  the  reverse  of  conservators  in  this  coun- 
try ;  it  M'as  idle  j^erhaps  to  expect  that  a  single  monument  of  the 
origin  of  the  town  w<  )nld  be  left  in  place. 

We  are  the  borderers  of  civilization  in  America,  but  borderers  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  when  all  distances  are  lessened,  whether  moral 
or  physical.  And  then,  as  borderers,  we  also  often  act  as  pioneers ;  the 
peculiar  tendencies  of  the  age  are  seen  more  clearly  among  us  than  in 
Europe.  The  civilization  of  the  present  is  far  more  subtle  in  its  cha- 
racter than  that  of  the  jiast,  and  its  works  are  naturally  like  itself, 
highly  influential,  and  important,  Imt  less  dignified,  and  imposing  in 
aspect.  It  woidd  be  comparatively  an  easy  work  to  remove  from  the 
earth  all  traces  of  many  of  the  peculiar  merits  of  modern  ci\dlization, 
just  as  the  grand  Palace  of  Glass,  now  standing  in  London,  that 
brilliant  and  characteristic  work  of  the  day,  might  in  a  few  hours  be 
utterly  razed.  Look  at  our  light  suspension  bridges,  marvellous  as 
they  are,  how  soon  they  could  be  destroyed;  look  at  our  railways, 
at  our  ships  and  manufactories  moved  l)y  steam  ;  look  at  the  marvel- 
lous electric  telegrajjh,  at  the  wonders  Daguerre  hcos  showed  us  — 
12 


on  A      DISSOLVING      VIEW. 

look  ill  fact,  at  any  of  tlie  peculiar  and  most  reiiiarkaT)le  of  the  -n'orks 
of  tlie  ao'c,  ami  see  liow  speedily  all  traces  of  tliem  could  he  removed. 
It  will  Ije  said  tliat  tlie  most  im]>ortaut  of  all  arts,  tliat  of  printing,  must 
suffice  in  itself  to  preserve  all  otlier  discoveries  :  assuredly ;  but  remove 
the  art  of  ])rinting,  Lring  fresh  hordes  of  barbarians  to  sweep  over  the 
civilized  world,  let  them  busy  themselves  with  the  task  of  destruction, 
and  say  then  what  traces  of  our  works  would  remain  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  as  nioiiumeiits  of  our  period.  Perchance,  as  regards  America, 
the  chief  proofs  that  eastern  civilization  had  once  passed,  over  this 
country  would  then  be  found  in  the  mingled,  vegetation,  the  trees,  the 
])lants,  ay,  the  very  weeds  of  the  old  world. 

We  are  told  by  IMonsleur  Agassiz  that,  as  the  surface  of  the  planet 
noAv  exists.  North  America  is,  in  reality,  the  oldest  jjart  of  the  earth. 
He  tells  us  that  in  many  particulars  our  vegetation,  and  our  animal 
life,  belong  to  an  older  period  than  those  of  the  eastern  hemisphere  ; 
he  tells  us  of  fossil  hickories,  and  fossil  gar-pikes  in  Europe,  while 
hickories  and  gar-pikes  are  now  confined  to  our  own  part  of  the  world. 
But  without  doubting  this  theory,  still  there  are  many  peculiarities 
which  give  to  this  country  an  air  of  youth  beyond  what  is  observed 
in  the  East.  There  are  many  parts  of  Europe,  of  Asia,  of  Africa, 
which  have  an  old,  worn-out,  exhausted  appearance ;  sterile  moun- 
tains, unwooded  moors,  barren  deserts  and  plains.  In  North 
Amei;jca,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  little  territory  which  can  l)e  called 
really  sterile.  As  a  general  rule,  the  extent  and  richness  of  its  forests 
and  its  wealth  of  waters  give  it  naturally  a  cheerful  aspect,  while  the 
more  rounded  forms  of  the  hills  and  mountains,  and  their  covering  of 
vegetation,  leave  an  impression  of  youth  on  the  mind,  comjjared  with 
the  abrupt,  rocky  jieaks,  the  smaller  streams,  and  the  ()])eii  unwooded 
plains  of  eastern  regions. 

The  C(»nij»aratively  slight  and  fugitive',  character  of  American  ai'clii- 


A       DISSOLVING       VIEW.  91 

tecture,  no  tloubt,  gives  additioual  force  to  tbis  impressioii.  Seltloui 
iudeed  are  our  edifices  imposing.  The  chief  merit  of  our  masonry  and 
carpentry,  esi)ecially  when  taken  in  the  mass,  where  tlie  details  are 
not  critically  examined,  is  a  pleasing  character  of  cheerfulness.  It  is 
not  the  airy  elegance  of  French  or  Italian  art ;  it  is  not  the  gayety  of 
the  Moorish  or  Arabesque ;  it  is  yet  too  unformed,  too  undecided  to 
claim  a  character  of  its  own,  but  the  general  air  of  comfort  and  thrift 
which  shows  itself  in  most  of  our  dwellings,  whether  on  a  large  or  a 
small  scale,  gives  satisfaction  in  its  way. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  came  to  us  as  we  sat  on  the  fallen 
pine,  among  the  October  woods,  overlooking  the  country.  Before 
bending  our  steps  homeward  we  amused  ourselves  with  a  sort  of  game 
of  architectural  consequences,  the  I'esult  of  the  preceding  fancies.  I 
had  gathered  a  sprig  of  wych-hazel,  and,  waving  it  over  the  valley,  de- 
termined to  make  a  trial  of  its  well-established  magical  powers.  No 
sooner  had  the  forked  branch,  garnished  with  its  ragged  yellow  flow- 
ers, been  waved  to  and  fro,  than  strange  work  began !  The  wooden 
bridge  at  the  entrance  of  the  village  fell  into  the  stream  and  disap- 
peared ;  the  court-house  vanished ;  the  seven  taverns  were  gone ;  the 
dozen  stores  had  felt  the  spell ;  the  churches  were  not  spared ;  the 
hundred  dwelling-houses  shared  the  same  fate,  and  vanished  like  the 
■  smoke  from  then-  own  chimneys.  Merely  razing  a  village  was  not, 
however,  our  ambition ;  so  we  again  had  recourse  to  the  leafless  twig 
of  wych-hazel.  Scarcely  had  it  passed  once  more  over  the  valley, 
when  we  saw  a  forest  start  from  the  earth,  the  trees  in  full  matm-ity, 
of  the  same  variety  of  species,  and  in  the  same  stage  of  autumnal 
coloring  with  the  woods  about  us.  But  even  this  reappearance  of  a 
forest  on  the  site  of  the  vanished  village  did  not  satisfy  the  whim  of 
the  moment.  The  branch  of  wych-hazel  was  again  rapidly  waved  to- 
wards the  four  quarters  of  the  heavens,  and  so  great  was  the  agitation 


02  A       DISSOLVIiSrG       VIEW. 

of  tlie  movement,  tliat  u  uumber  of  its  yellow  ragged  petals  were  bro- 
ken otf,  and  scattered  by  the  wind  over  the  country.  Perhaps  the 
blossoms  increased  the  power  of  the  spell,  for  in  another  moment  we 
beheld  a  spectacle  which  wholly  engrossed  our  attention.  "We  had 
been  indulgiug  in  the  wish  to  have  a  view  of  the  valley  in  the  condi- 
tion it  would  have  assumed,  had  it  lain  in  the  track  of  European  ci\TJ- 
ization  during  past  ages ;  how,  in  such  a  case,  would  it  have  been  fash- 
ioned by  the  hand  of  man?  To  our  amazement  the  wish  was  now 
granted.  But  it  recpiired  a  second  close  scrutiny  to  convince  us  that 
this  was  indeed  the  site  of  the  village  which  had  disappeared  a  mo- 
ment earlier,  every  thing  was  so  strangely  altered.  We  soon  con- 
vinced ourselves,  however,  that  all  the  natural  features  of  the  laud- 
scape  remained  precisely  as  we  had  always  known  them ;  not  a  curve 
in  the  outline  of  the  lake  was  changed,  not  a  knoll  was  misplaced. 
The  vegetation  was  such  as  we  had  long  been  foniiliar  with,  and  the 
coloring  of  the  autumnal  woods  precisely  Avhat  it  had  l>een  an  hour 
earlier.  But  here  all  resemblance  ceased.  Many  of  the  hills  had  been 
wholly  shorn  of  wood.  The  position  of  the  diHerent  farms  and  that 
of  the  Ijuildiugs  was  entirely  changed.  Looking  down  upon  the  little 
town  we  saw  it  had  dwindled  to  a  mere  hamlet ;  low,  pictui'esipie, 
thatched  cottages  were  iri-egularly  grouped  along  a  wide  grassy  street, 
and  about  a  broad  green  which  formed  the  centre  of  the  village;  in 
this  open  grassy  gi'een  stood  a  large  stone  cross,  beautifully  designed 
and  elaborately  carved,  doubtless  a  monument  of  some  past  historical 
event.  One  small  inn,  the  only  tavern,  faced  the  green  and  the  cross, 
and  a  large  sign  swung  heavily  before  the  door.  The  church,  the 
largest  building  in  the  handet,  was  evidently  very  old,  and  covered  a 
good  deal  of  ground  —  its  walls  were  low,  of  hewn  stone  —  one  large 
and  rich  window  occujDied  the  eastern  end,  and  a  graceful  spire  rose  in 
the  opposite  direction.     Two  or  three  small,  quiet-lookuig  shops  rej^re- 


A      D  I  S  S  O  L  V  r  N  ( ;       \  1  K  w.  93 

seuted  tlie  trade  of  tlie  place.  The  bridge  was  of  massive  stone,  nar- 
row, and  higlily  arched,  while  the  I'uins  of  a  tower  stood  close  at 
hand.  The  fields  were  parted  by  hedges,  ^\hicli  lined  the  narrow 
roads  on  either  side.  Several  country  houses  were  seen  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, in  various  grades  of  importance.  There  was  a  pretty  thatched 
cottage,  with  one  large  bay  window  for  front,  and  surrounded  by  a  gay 
flower-garden.  Then  just  without  the  village  was  a  place  of  some  size, 
evidently  an  old  country  house,  dating  perhaps  some  six  or  eight  gen- 
erations back,  with  its  brick  walls,  quaint  chimneys,  angles,  cornices, 
and  additions ;  this  place  could  boast  its  park,  and  deer  were  grazing 
on  the  lawn.  Yonder  iu  the  distance,  upon  the  western  shore  of  the 
lake,  stood  a  castle  of  gray  stone,  its  half  dozen  towers  rising  a  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  hdl-side ;  there  were  beautiful  lawns  and  broad 
masses  of  wood  in  this  extensive  domain ;  the  building  itself  was  in 
good  condition,  and  ai^jiarently  inhabited.  On  a  pretty  point,  pro- 
jecting into  the  lake  about  a  league  from  the  village,  stood  a  half- 
ruined  convent,  now  reduced  to  a  mere  farm-house.  Something  whis- 
pered to  us  that  a  Roman  road  had  once  passed  in  that  direction,  that 
a  vdla  had  formerly  stood  on  the  same  spot  as  the  Priory,  and  that 
ancient  coins  were  occasionally  dug  up  there.  The  modern  highways 
running  through  the  valley  were  the  most  perfect  that  can  be  con- 
ceived. No  less  than  nine  difterent  handets  were  in  sight  from  our 
position  on  the  clift' ;  two,  in  addition  to  the  village  at  our  feet,  were 
seated  on  the  lake-shoi'e ;  three  more  were  seen  clinging  to  the  hill- 
sides, grouped  about  sites  where  feudal  castles  had  stood  in  former 
times ;  another  appeared  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  at  a  point  long 
used  as  a  ford,  and  two  more  occupied  different  positions  in  the  valley. 
Pretty  gray  spires,  or  low  church  towers,  were  seen  rising  above  most 
of  these  hamlets.  On  the  farthest  hill  to  the  northward,  and  from 
its  highest  point,  the  I'uins  of  an  ancient  watchtower  rose  above  the 
wood. 


()4  A       DISSOLAING      VIEW. 

I  could  cany  my  observations  no  furtlier.  The  yellow  flowers  of 
the  A^Tcli-hazel  in  my  hand  had  attracted  a  roving  bee,  bent  appa- 
rently on  improving  these  last  warm  days,  and  harvesting  the  last 
drops  of  honey ;  the  little  creature  had  crept  close  to  a  finger,  and  a 
sharp  stino-  soon  recalled  my  wandering  attention,  and  caused  me  to 
drop  the  branch  and  the  bee  together.  The  magic  wych-hazel  thro'svn 
aside,  the  spell  was  over ;  the  country  had  resumed  its  every-day 
aspect. 


'' '  l/t  (••'^' 


''■"^ 


THE    SCENERY    OE    PENNSYLVANIA, 


BY      BAYARD      TAYLOR. 

TiiEEE  is,  perhaps,  no  State  iu  tlie  Uniou  wliicli  presents  a  greater 
variety  of  landscape  than  Pennsylvania.  Tills  variety  does  not  consist 
only  in  the  outward  configuration  of  her  suiiace  — .  in  the  change  from 
mountain  to  plain,  from  sterile  grandeur  to  the  rich  monotony  of  a 
level  alluvial  region  —  but  also  in  climate,  atmosphere,  and  all  those 
finer  influences  which  are  as  the  soul  to  the  material  forms  of  Nature. 
All  laudscajies,  whatever  may  be  their  features,  have  a  distinct  indi- 
viduahty,  and  express  a  sentiment  of  their  own.  As  in  Man,  there  is 
no  reproduction  of  the  same  form  or  the  same  peculiar  S2>irit,  though 
in  belts  and  broad  ranges  of  scenery  —  often  in  entire  countries  — 
Nature  bears  some  general  distinguishing  stainji  wlierel)y  the  smallest 
of  her  pictures  may  be  recognized. 

It  would  be  difiicult  to  present  any  single  landscape  as  being  esjie- 
cially  Pennsylvaniau.  Occupying  a  central  position  among  the  States, 
Pennsylvania  touches  both  belts  of  the  temperate  zone,  embracing 
within  her  boundaries  varieties  of  climate  ranging  between  those  of 
Canada  and  Virginia.     From  the  Atlantic  tide-water,  she  crosses  the 


96  THE      SCENEKY      OF      PENNSYLVANIA. 

broad  mountaiu  cliaiu  ^vllioll  scjiarates  its  atHucuts  from  tliose  whose 
union  forms  the  Boantiful  River  of  the  West,  and  from  her  Lake  Erie 
border  looks  over  to  the  cohl  shores  of  Canada.  AVhile  she  is  washed 
by  ■vratei's  that  have  been  thaM^ed  from  ice-bound  Winnipeg,  for  away 
towai-ds  the  Arctic  reahu,  the  streams  of  lialf  her  territory  find  their 
wi\j  to  the  zone  of  the  orange  and  the  jialm,  before  they  I'each  the 
sea.  In  regard  to  the  general  characteristics  of  her  scenery,  the  State 
may  be  diN^ded  into  three  districts  :  the  warm  agricultural  region, 
lying  in  the  south-eastern  part,  between  the  Susquehamia  and  the 
Delaware ;  the  mountain  region,  embracing  all  the  ranges  of  the  great 
Appalachian  chain,  many  of  which  terminate  before  they  reach  the 
New-York  frontier;  and  the  cool,  rolling  ujiland  ])lateau  of  the  north- 
west, with  its  lakes,  forests,  and  alnindant  streams.  Each  of  these 
I'egions  has  a  separate  character,  and  while  no  considerable  part  of 
the  State  is  absolutely  barren  or  monotonous,  the  toui'ist  who  tra- 
verses its  whole  extent  is  enchanted  with  the  continual  change  and 
picturesc^ue  variety  of  scenery  through  which  he  passes. 

The  only  localities  which  have  acquired  much  celebrity  beyond 
the  borders  of  the  State,  are  the  Valley  of  the  Juniata  River,  (a 
chai'ining  glim])se  of  which  is  given  in  the  engraving  accompanying 
this  sketch,)  and  the  Yale  of  Wyoming,  renowned  through  Brandt's 
IMassacre  and  Campbell's  jDoem ;  though  the  description  of  its  bold  and 
beautiful  landscapes,  as  given  by  the  transatlantic  bard,  is  more  befit- 
ting one  of  the  I'ough  /x/ /■/■(/ iicas  of  Mexico.  The  stranger  who  visits  it 
witli  tliat  description  in  his  memory,  will  see  no  scarlet  flamingoes  cir- 
cling tlirough  the  air,  ikh'  thorny  aloes  hanging  from  the  crevices  of 
the  rocks,  neitlier  can  he  iinininir  the  melodious  cadences  of  Outalissl's 
dcath-siMii;'  "on  hillocks  by  the  palm-tree  overgrown."  But  the  moun- 
tain rampart  of  AVvoniing  is  ])lunied  witli  the  northern  fir,  and  the 
sweet  valley,  with  tin;  Susquehanna  in   its   lap  and  Its  foliage  of  oak, 


THE       SCENE KY       OP       PENNSYLVANIA.  97 

cliesuut,  aud  sycamore,  could  scarcely  take  au  additional  grace  from 
the  aloe  or  the  palm.  Yet,  because  tliose  warm  and  opulent  cham- 
paigns and  those  hills  veined  with  iron  and  set  on  solid  foundations  of 
coal,  which  are  the  pride  of  Pennsylvania,  are  unsung  and  undescribed, 
(what  part  of  our  country  has  yet  been  justly  described  ?)  it  should 
not  be  presumed  that  the  State  cannot  show  many  a  valley  as  fair  as 
the  mountain-girdled  repose  of  Wyoming,  and  many  a  gorge  as  freshly 
and  wildly  beautiful  as  those  through  which  leap  the  sparkling  waters 
of  the  Juniata. 

Most  beautiful  to  our  eyes,  perhaps  because  most  familiar  —  more 
enticing  even  than  the  fastnesses  of  the  Alleghanies  —  is  that  delightful 
region  lying  between  them  and  the  Delaware.  The  mountains,  in 
their-  passage  through  the  State,  deflect  gradually  from  their  northern 
course  and  curve  in  the  arc  of  a  grand  circle  towards  its  eastern  and 
north-eastern  boundary.  The  first  ridge  rises  about  forty  miles  west 
of  the  Susquehanna,  where  the  river  crosses  Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 
Thence,  running  northward,  it  gives  place  to  the  Blue  Eidge,  which 
has  come,  mth  scarcely  a  break,  from  its  starting-point  in  the  central 
group  of  the  North  Carolina  mountain  region.  Crossing  the  Susque- 
hanna near  Harrisburg,  the  Blue  Ridge  bends  away  to  the  north-east, 
suffering  the  Schuylkill  and  Lehigh  to  slip  through  its  deep  gorges, 
and  finally  forms  the  stupendous  Water-Gap  of  the  Delaware.  Pro- 
tected from  the  chill  lake-winds  by  this  grand  natural  barrier  and  the 
still  higher  ridges  behind  it,  and  open  to  the  equalizing  influence  of 
the  near  Atlantic,  this  is  the  richest  and  most  beautiful  agricultural 
district  of  any  of  the  searboard  States.  Its  climate  Ls  singularly  genial 
and  temperate,  and  the  vegetation  which  covers  its  softly  undulating 
hills  has  something  of  the  rich  tints  and  prodigal  luxuriance  of  the 
South.  The  author  of  Evangeline  sings  of  this  region :  "  There  the 
air  is  all  balm  and  the  peach  is  the  emblem  of  l)eauty." 
13 


98  THE      SCENERY      OF      PENNSYLVANIA. 

The  face  of  the  country  is  diversified  with  au  endless  succession  of 
round,  open  hills,  sometunes  rising  steep  and  bold  from  the  banks  of 
the  rills  and  rivulets  that  course  through  it,  sometimes  receding  so  as 
to  form  gentle  valleys,  or  spreading  into  broad  upland  tracts,  rich  with 
forests  and  pastm-e  fields.  Except  the  Great  Valley  of  Chester,  which 
extends  from  the  SchuylkUl  to  the  Conestoga,  a  distance  of  forty 
miles,  there  are  no  long  reaches  of  level  land,  whUe  there  is  scarcely  a 
hill  will  eh  may  not  be  cultivated  to  its  summit.  The  highest  swells 
south  of  the  Blue  Ridge  do  not  rise  more  than  five  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea-level.  Near  the  mountains  the  winters  are  more  cold 
and  sharp,  but  in  the  southern  part  but  little  snow  falls,  and  the 
autumn  freciueutly  stretches  its  mild  reign  into  December.  The  great 
variety  and  beauty  of  the  native  forest-trees  gives  this  region,  in  sum- 
mer, an  almost  tropical  wealth  of  vegetation.  The  pine,  the  fir,  the 
cedar,  the  hemlock-spruce  and  the  beech  come  down  from  the  North 
and  clothe  the  1)auks  of  the  streams  ;  the  oak,  the  walnut,  the  superb 
tulip-tree,  the  chesuut,  sycamore  and  linden  add  then-  warmer  and 
more  luxuriant  fohage,  and  in  some  sheltered  spots  the  magnolia  pours 
from  its  snowy  goblets  a  delicions  perfume  on  the  au'S  of  early  summer. 
The  laurel,  towards  the  end  of  May,  covera  whole  lull-sides  with  its 
crimped  pink  blossoms,  and  the  crimson  rhododendron,  scarcely  less 
iiiagnificent  than  the  Cape  Azalea,  is  frequently  seen  hanging  over  the 
flitrs  t)f  the  Schuylkill. 

At  the  commencement  of  June,  when  the  leaves  are  fully  ex- 
panded and  retain  their  first  fresh  and  beautiful  green,  the  warmth, 
In-ightness  and  richness  of  the  landscapes  of  this  region  are  the  very 
embodiment  of  the  S2)irit  of  Suumier.  The  forests  are  piled  masses  of 
gorgeous  foliage,  now  stretching  hke  a  rampart  over  the  hills,  now 
following  some  winding  water-coui"se,  and  now  broken  into  groves  and 
clumps,  dotting  the  undulations  of  the  grain  and  grass  fields.     And 


THE       SCENERY       OF       PENNSYLVANIA.  99 

tliose  fields  !  some  rolling  witli  the  purple  waves  of  the  ripe,  juicy 
clover ;  some  silver-gray  witL.  rye,  or  just  tinged  witli  yellow  where 
the  wheat  has  leaned  to  the  sun ;  or  glittering  with  the  lance-like 
leaves  of  the  Indian  corn :  —  surely  there  can  be  no  more  imposing 
exhibition  of  agricultural  wealth,  even  in  older  and  more  productive 
lands.  In  the  trim,  careful  beauty  of  England  and  the  broad  garden 
of  the  Rhine  plain,  one  sees  nothing  of  this  prodigality  of  bloom  and 
foliage  —  this  luxury  of  Nature. 

Here  is  found  almost  every  variety  of  scenery  which  may  be  had 
without  mountain  or  praii'ie.  The  region  is  watered  by  several  large 
streams  and  their  tril)utaries.  In  addition  to  the  Schuylkill  and 
Lehigh,  which  take  their  rise  on  the  southern  slope  of  the  mountains 
behind  Wyoming,  there  is  the  Brandywine,  made  classic  by  its  revolu- 
tionary memoiies  and  deserving  of  equal  renown  for  the  pastoi'al 
beauty  of  its  course ;  the  Octorara,  a  wild  and  picturesque  stream, 
overhung  with  bold  hills  and  frequently  broken  by  rocky  barriers ; 
the  Conestoga,  watering  the  agricultural  paradise  of  Lancaster  county, 
and  the  Swatara,  on  whose  banks  the  Suabiau  emigrants  might  forget 
their  memories  of  the  secluded  Fils.  Nor  are  there  wanting  fitting  as- 
sociations to  give  the  country  a  deeper  interest  than  its  external 
beauty ;  for  nature  never  speaks  to  us  with  a  perfect  voice  till  she  has 
received  a  soul  from  her  connection  with  Man.  The  aunaLs  of  the  Re- 
volution are  now  old  enough  to  nurture  a  legend ;  and  what  finer 
personages  than  Washington,  Lafayette  and  Anthony  Wayne  on  one 
side,  and  Howe  and  Knyphausen  on  the  other  ?  Still  further  back  we 
have  WiUiam  Penn,  and  that  wife  of  his,  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  Milton. 
And  this  was  also  the  Vinland  of  Scandinavian  Printz,  when  he 
brought  his  vessel,  the  Key  of  Calmar,  to  unlock  the  j^ortal  of  a  new 
Swedish  Empire  in  the  West. 

But  the  natural  affection  of  a  son  of  this  reo-ion  and  an  heir  of 


100  THE      SCENEKY      OF      PENNSYLVANIA. 

these  memories,  has  led  me  away  from  the  mountains,  where  we  shall 
find  a  Avholly  different  sentiment  expressed  in  the  scenery.  Never 
risino-  to  such  a  height  as  to  give  the  impressions  of  power  and  sub- 
limity which  we  receive  from  grander  ranges,  the  Alleghanies  still 
possess  a  fresh  and  picturesque  beauty  of  theii-  own.  They  are  never 
monotonous,  even  where,  as  in  the  southern  part  of  the  State,  they 
are  drawn  into  long  parallel  ridges  of  level  outline,  inclosing  broad 
valleys  between  their  bases.  The  uni)ruued  wildness  of  the  forests 
with  which  they  are  clothed  compensates  the  eye  for  the  absence  of 
cht}^  and  scar,  and  spiry  pinnacle  of  naked  rock ;  while  the  waters  of 
the  Susquehaima  and  its  tributatries,  most  of  which  break  through 
them  abruptly,  at  right  angles  to  their  course,  give  a  constant  variety 
to  their  landscapes.  The  height  of  the  principal  chains  varies  from 
two  to  three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  In  the  northern  part  the 
mountains  are  steep  and  aljrnpt,  Avith  sharp  crests,  and  occasionally  a 
notched  and  jagged  outline.  Sharp  INIountain,  near  Pottsville,  has 
along  its  summit  a  thin  vei'tical  stratum  of  rock,  like  a  comb  or  crest, 
so  narrow  that  one  may  bestride  it  in  many  places.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  coal-fields,  however,  and  fronting  this  ridge,  rises  Broad  Moun- 
tain, whose  summit  is  a  nearly  level  plain. 

Tlie  principal  ranges  in  the  south  have  this  latter  conformation, 
and  their  summits  are  here  and  there  inhabited  and  cultivated,  though, 
at  such  a  height  al)ove  the  sea,  the  crops  are  necessarily  scanty.  The 
old  stage  route  from  Philadelphia  to  Pittsburgh — still  travelled  by 
drovei-s  and  their  herds  of  Western  stock  for  the  mai'kets  of  the  East 
—  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  highways  in  the  United  States.  Its 
course  for  a  hiuidri'd  miles  is  over  these  mountains,  crossing  valleys 
from  ten  to  twenty  miles  in  width,  and  climbing  the  ridges  by  straight 
and  slowly  ascending  lines  to  the  pure  atmosphere  of  the  summit  plain 
and  the  splendid  landscape  which  it  commands.     Leaving  the  bewil- 


THE       SCENEKY       O  i'       PENNSYLVANIA.  101 

deriiig  view  behind  liim,  the  traveller  is  soou  whirled  on  to  the  oppo- 
site brink,  where  he  looks  down  on  another  hazy  realm  of  streams  and 
forests,  villages  and  embowered  homesteads,  bounded  by  another  blue 
and  far-stretehing  rampart,  where  a  white  thread,  that  seems  to  have 
been  dropped  slautly  along  the  side,  marks  the  further  course  of  his 
journey.  But  he  is  allowed  no  time  to  revel  in  the  suggestions  of  that 
airy  vision  ;  the  horses'  feet  have  touched  the  descending  grade  ;  they 
break  into  a  headlong  gallop  and  hurl  him  downwards  into  the  forest. 
Down,  down,  like  wild  steeds  let  loose  on  a  prairie ;  for  the  stage  rolls 
by  its  own  weight,  and  there  can  be  no  pause  in  the  mad  career.  The 
pine  spreads  out  its  arms  to  catch  him,  l)ut  he  shoots  past,  careless  of 
the  dew  it  dashes  in  his  face.  The  mountain  drops  into  a  clift'  and  a 
gulf  yawns  on  one  side  ;  the  dust  of  his  2:)assage  rolls  over  the  brink, 
but  he  does  not  stay.  And  so,  for  miles  down  that  interminable  slope, 
till  the  horses  are  reined  up,  panting  and  smoking,  on  the  level  of  the 
valley. 

The  upjier  region  of  the  Alleghanies,  if  it  has  no  such  imposing 
sweeps  of  landscape  and  cannot  aiford  such  exciting  passages  of  travel, 
is  more  broken  and  rugged.  The  regularity  of  the  chain  ceases  ;  the 
mountains  are  more  involved  and  irregular,  and  many  of  the  rivere 
are  real  labyrinths  of  scenery,  perpetually  unfolding  in  some  new  and 
unexpected  combination.  From  the  dome  of  the  State  House  at  Ilar- 
risburg  the  entrance  to  the  Highlands  of  the  Susquehanna  —  the  gap 
where  the  river  forces  its  way  through  the  Blue  Bidge,  is  seen  in  the 
distance.  Thence,  to  all  the  sources  of  the  river  and  those  of  all  its 
tributaries,  it  never  loses  sight  of  the  Alleghanies.  They  step  across 
it  as  a  barrier  and  break  it  into  rapids  ;  they  run  by  its  side  and  try 
to  shadow  it  into  insignificance ;  they  stretch  away  and  look  at  it  from 
the  horizon  ;  —  l:)ut  it  is  a  child  of  theirs,  and  is  never  so  wild  and  free 
and  beautiful  as  when  in  their  company.     It  is  not  to  be  compared 


102  TBE      SCENEIiy      OF      PENNSYLVANIA. 

witli  any  foreign  river.  It  is  infinitely  more  grand  and  inspiring  tlian 
tlae  Moselle  or  the  Meuse  ;  it  is  Ijrigliter  and  freslier  than  tlie  Khone, 
and  tlie  character  of  its  scenery  is  totally  different.  Although  the 
canal-l)oat  lias  invaded  its  i)nmitive  silence,  it  is  a  picturesque  iimova- 
tion,  and  the  mountains  could  not  call  to  each  other  in  a  more  fitting 
voice  than  is  given  them  by  the  boatman's  bugle,  pealing  through  the 
moniiug  mists. 

In  the  heart  of  tlie  Susquehanna's  realm,  there  are  many  spots,  the 
record  of  whose  beauty  has  not  yet  been  wafted  over  the  tops  of  the 
mountains  that  inclose  them.  Everybody  knows  the  name  of  Wyo- 
ming, but  few  —  outside  of  Pennsylvania,  at  least — have  heard  of  the 
Half-Moon  Valley  in  Centre  county,  or  the  mountain  wildernesses  of 
Clinton  and  Clearfield ;  and  though  the  Juniata,  so  far  as  its  course 
has  been  made  the  State's  highway,  is  a  beaten  track,  yet  its  upper 
waters  flow  through  many  a  scene  of  sequestered  loveliness.  The  pre- 
vailing characteristic  of  the  river  is  its  picturesque  beauty,  of  which 
the  scene  chosen  by  Mr.  Talbot  in  the  accompanying  engraving  is  an 
admirable  exemplar.  Here  is  nothing  grand  or  awe-inspiiing.  Tlie 
outlines  of  the  mountain  in  the  background,  though  clearly  di-awu  in 
the  serene  air,  are  soft,  graceful  and  suggestive  only  of  repose ;  the 
nearer  crags,  though  bluff  and  rude,  are  mantled  with  foliage,  and  the 
quiet  curve  of  the  transparent  water,  touched  with  the  gleam  of  a 
pigmy  sail  in  the  distance,  whispers  of  other  nooks  and  more  beautiful 
retreats,  far  away  in  the  silent  solitudes  of  the  hills.  The  freshness  of 
these  scenes  has  not  yet  departed  ;  the  dew  of  the  virgin  Continent  is 
still  moist  ujion  them.  The  antlered  deer  track  the  mazes  of  their 
forests  and  the  black  bear  makes  his  winter  couch  in  their  dcejiest  and 
lonehest  nooks. 

Leaving  this  enchanting  region  and  crossing  the  wild  and  half- 
settled  tract,  which  extends  through  tlie  counties  of  Cleai"fiekl,  Elk 


THE       SCENERY       OF       PENNSYLVANIA.  103 

aucl  Forest  —  a  cold,  central  table-land,  twelve  or  fifteen  liundrcd  feet 
above  the  sea — we  reach  the  Northern  agricultural  district  of  the 
State.  In  its  elevation,  its  frequent  lakes,  its  itinunierable  streams, 
and  the  general  character  of  its  soil,  this  country  resembles  the  Lake 
district  of  Central  New- York.  The  vegetation  is  no  longer  so  w^arm 
and  luxuriant  as  on  the  Delaware ;  the  oak,  hemlock  and  pine  supplant 
the  tulip-tree  and  the  linden,  and  the  maize  no  longer  thrusts  up  such 
tall  spears  and  shakes  such  lusty  tassels  in  the  breeze.  But  the 
region,  nevertheless,  has  a  bold,  fresh,  vigorous  beauty  of  its  own. 
It  is  inured  to  cold  winds  and  keen  winters,  and  if  its  landscapes 
ever  look  bleak,  it  is  that  bracing  bleakness  which  exhilarates  and 
strengthens. 

Here  our  tour  is  at  an  end  ;  we  pass  the  large,  clear  lakes,  most 
beautiful  under  a  cloudless  autumnal  sky ;  we  pass  the  farms,  the  trim 
villages,  the  pine-crested  hills ;  and,  after  lea\Tng  the  AUeghanies, 
three  days  on  one  of  the  strong-limbed  horses  of  the  country  brings 
us  within  sight  of  the  silver  horizon-line  and  hearing  of  the  silver  surf 
of  Lake  Erie. 


THE   HIGHLAND  TERRACE   ABOVE  WEST   POINT. 


BY    N.     PAKKER    WILLIS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


TiiERE  are  three  compulsory  and  unnatural  residents  in  cities^  whom 
tlie  impi'ovenieuts  of  tlie  age  are  about  to  set  at  liberty.  But  for  the 
inconveuiences  of  distance,  Taste,  Study,  and  Luxury,  would  have 
NEVER  LiA'ED  WILLINGLY  IN  STREETS.  Silently  aud  inscusibly,  how- 
ever, different  parts  of  the  country  have  become  as  accessible  as  diffe- 
rent parts  of  the  town.  It  would  be  safe,  perhaps,  to  say  that  eveiy 
thing  that  is  within  an  hour's  reach,  is  sufficiently  at  hand ;  and  Eng- 
lish rail-trains  now  travel  regularly  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Fifty  miles 
from  New- York  will  soon  be  near  enough  to  its  amusements,  society 
and  conveniences  —  at  least,  for  the  greater  portion  of  the  year ;  and, 
on  the  day  when  this  fact  shall  be  recognized,  New-Yorkers  will  be 
ready  for  a  startling  and  most  revolutionizing  change,  viz : — •  liome-s  in 
the  country  and  lodgings  in  town^  instead  of  Ibomes  in  town  and  lodg- 
ings in  the  country.  Industry,  necessity,  or  vice,  could  alone  prefer  a 
house  in  a  "  block,"  among  disturbances  and  gutters,  to  a  home  unen- 
croached  upon,  amid  fresh  air  and  gardens.  Taste,  Study,  and  Luxmy, 
we  repeat,  are  about  removing  to  the  country. 
14 


106  THE   HIGHLAND   TERRACE. 

It  will  be  observed  that  we  anticipate  a  general  preference,  only 
for  such  rural  life  as  leaves  the  j^l^ci^'Ufes  and  advantages  of  a  city 
within  reach.  To  be  too  far  in  the  country,  is,  for  many  reasons,  a 
dangerous  as  Avell  as  unpleasant  removal  from  liberalizing  and  general- 
izing influences.  Its  effect  on  the  mind  is,  perhaps,  ultimately,  the 
more  important  consideration  —  for  it  must  be  a  very  self-sufiicing  and 
unassimilating  character  that  does  not  narrow  and  grow  egotistic  with 
limited  associations  and  intercourse  —  but  its  effect  on  the  sensitive- 
ness as  to  mental  liberty  and  social  position,  is  sooner  to  be  consider- 
ed ;  for,  there  is  no  tyranny  like  that  which  is  occasionally  found  in  a 
small  Aollage,  and  no  slaveiy  like  the  eftbrts  sometimes  necessary  to 
preserve  the  good  will  of  small  neighborhoods.  Country  life,  even 
with  its  best  natural  charms  and  advantages,  is  a  doubtful  experiment 
of  happiness,  unless  your  main  dependence  for  reciprocity,  society  and 
amusements,  is  beyond  the  reach  of  local  jealousies  and  caprices.  The 
great  charm  of  a  city  is  the  freedom  between  neighbors  as  to  any 
obligation  of  acquaintance,  and  the  power  to  pick  friends  and  make 
visits  without  fear  of  oftending  those  not  picked  nor  visited.  "With 
the  city  not  farther  off  than  an  hour  or  two  hours  of  locomotion,  this 
privilege  can  be  reasonably  and  harmlessly  asserted  in  the  country ; 
and,  with  theatres,  concerts,  galleries  of  art,  churches  and  promenades 
also  within  reach,  the  advantages  of  both  town  and  country  life  are 
combined,  while  the  defects  of  both  are  modified  or  avoided.  It  is 
with  reference  to  a  neio  era  of  outer  life.,  therefore  — •  science  having  so 
far  reduced  distance  that  toe  may  mix  town  and  country  life  in  sucJi 
proportion  as  pleases  us  —  that  we  propose  to  describe  a  locality 
where  residence,  with  this  view,  wovdd  be  most  desirable  for  New- 
Yorkers. 


THE      HIGHLAND      TEKRACE.  ID'S 


DESCRIPTION. 


"West  Point  is  Nature's  Nortliern  Gate  to  New- York  City.  As 
soon  as  our  rail-trains  shall  equal  those  of  England,  and  travel  fifty  or 
sixty  miles  an  hour,  the  Hudson,  as  far  as  West  Point,  will  he  but  a 
fifty-mile  extension  of  Broadway.  The  river-banks  will  have  become 
a  suburban  avenue  —  a  long  street  of  villas,  whose  busiest  resident 
vnU  be  content  that  the  City  Hall  is  within  an  hour  of  his  door. 
From  this  metropolitan  avenue  into  the  agricultural  and  rural  region, 
the  outlet  will  be  at  the  city's  Northern  Gate,  of  West  Point  —  a  gate 
whose  threshold  divides  Sea-board  from  In-land,  and  whose  mountain 
pillars  were  heaved  up  with  the  changeless  masonry  of  Creation. 

The  passage  througli  the  INIountam-Gate  of  West  Point  is  a  three- 
mile  Labyrinth,  whose  clue-thread  is  the  channel  of  the  river  —  a 
complex  wilderness,  of  romantic  picturesqueness  and  beauty,  which 
will  yet  be  the  teeming  Switzerland  of  our  country's  Poetry  and  Pen- 
cil — ■  and,  at  the  upper  and  northern  outlet  of  this  lal^yrinthiue  portal 
of  the  city,  there  is  a  formation  of  hills  which  has  an  expression  of 
most  apt  significance.  Jt  looks  lihe  a  gesture  of  welcome  from  Nature^ 
and  an  invitation  to  look  around  you!  From  the  shoulder-hke  bluff 
upon  the  river,  an  outspreading  range  of  Highlands  extends  back, 
like  the  curve  of  a  waving  arm  —  the  single  mountain  of  Siiawangunk, 
(connected  with  the  range  by  a  vaUey  hke  the  bend  of  a  graceful 
wrht)^  forming  tJie  hand  at  tlie  extremity .  It  is  of  the  area  within  the 
curve  of  this  Ijeuded  arm  —  a  Highland  Terrace  of  ten  or  twelve 
miles  square,  on  the  West  Bank  of  the  river  — ■  that  we  propose  to  de- 
fine the  capabilities,  and  probable  destiny. 

The  Highland  Terrace  we  speak  of  —  ten  miles  squai-e,  and  lying 
within  the  curve  of  this  outstretched  arm  of  mountains  —  has  an  ave- 
rage level  of  about  one  hundi'ed  and  twenty  feet  above  the  river.     It 


108  THE      HIGHLAND      TERKACE. 

was  early  settled ;  aud,  the  rawness  of  first  clearings  lia\nug  long  ago 
disappeared,  the  well-distributed  second  rvoods  are  full  grown,  aud 
stand,  undisfigured  by  stumjDS,  in  park-like  roundness  and  maturity. 
The  entire  area  of  the  Terrace  contains  sevei'al  villages,  aud  is  divided 
up  into  cultivated  farm?,  the  walls  and  fences  in  good  condition,  the 
roads  lined  with  trees,  the  orchard-*  fall,  the  houses  aud  barns  suffi- 
ciently hidden  with  foliage  to  be  picturesque  —  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, in  fact,  within  any  driving  distance,  quite  rid  of  the  angularity 
and  well-known  ungracefulness  of  a  newly-settled  country. 

Though  the  Terrace  is  a  ten-mile  plain,  however,  its  roads  are  re- 
markably varied  and  beautiful,  from  the  curious  muUiplicity  of  deep 
glens.  These  are  formed  by  the  many  streams  which  descend  from 
the  half-bowl  of  mountains  enclosing  the  plain,  and — -their  descent 
being  rapid  and  sudden,  aud  the  river  into  which  they  empty  being 
one  or  two  hundred  feet  below  the  level  of  the  country  around  —  they 
have  gradually  worn  beds  much  deeper  than  ordinary  streams,  and 
are,  from  this  and  the  charactei'  of  the  soil,  unusually  picturescpie.  At 
every  mile  or  so,  in  driving  which  way  you  will,  you  come  to  a  sudden 
descent  into  a  richly  wooded  vale  —  a  1  jright,  winding  brook  at  bot- 
tom, and  romantic  recesses  constantly  tempting  to  loiter.  In  a  long 
summer,  and  with  perpetual  diiving  over  these  ten-mile  interlacings  of 
wooded  roads  aud  glens,  the  writer  daily  found  new  scenery,  and 
heard  of  beautiful  spots,  within  reach  aud  still  unseen.  From  every 
little  rise  of  the  road,  it  must  l)e  remembered,  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
Hudson  is  visible,  with  foreground  variously  combined  and  broken; 
and  tlie  lofty  mountains,  (encircling  just  about  as  nmch  scenery  as  the 
eye  can  compass  for  enjoyment),  form  an  ascending  hach/round  and 
a  near  lioriwn  which  ai'e  hardly  surpassed  in  the  world  for  boldness 
and  licauty.  To  wliat  degree  sunsets  and  sunrises,  clouds,  moonlight, 
and  storms,  are  aggramlizcil   and   cinbcllislicil   l)y  tliis  peculiar  foi-iiia- 


THE      HIGHLAND      TERRACE.  109 

tiou  of  couutiy,  any  student  aud  lover  of  nature  will  at  once  under- 
stand. Life  may  be,  outwardly,  as  much,  more  beautiful,  amid  sucli 
scenery,  as  action  amid  the  scenery  of  a  stage  is  more  dramatic  than 
in  an  unfurnislied  room. 


LOCAL    ADVANTAGES. 

The  acees.'^Mities  from  Highland  Terrace  are  very  desirable. 
West  Point  is  perhaps  a  couple  of  miles  below,  by  the  river  bank ; 
and,  thougli  mountain-bluffs  and  precipices  now  cut  off  the  following 
of  this  line  by  land,  a  road  has  been  surveyed  and  commenced  along 
tlie  base  of  Cro'nest,  which,  when  completed,  will  be  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  drives  in  the  world.  A  part  of  it  is  to  be  blown  out  from 
the  face  of  the  rock ;  and,  as  the  lofty  eminences  will  almost  com- 
pletely overhang  it,  nearly  the  whole  road  will  be  in  shade  in  the 
afternoon.  To  pass  along  this  romantic  way  for  an  excursion  to  the 
superb  military  grounds  of  West  Point,  and  to  have  tke  parades  and 
music  within  an  easy  drive,  will  be  certainly  an  unusual  luxury  for  a 
country  neighl>orhood.  The  communication  is  already  open  for 
vehicles,  by  means  of  a  steam  ferry,  which  runs  l^etween  Cornwall 
Landing  (at  the  foot  of  the  Terrace),  and  Cold  Sprmg  and  the  Mili- 
tary Wharf — bringing  these  three  beautiful  spots  within  a  few 
minutes'  reach  of  each  other  —  Morris  the  song-writer's  triple-view 
site  of  "  Undercliff,"  by  the  way,  overlooking  the  central  of  tkese 
Highland-Ferry  Landings. 

It  may  be  a  greater  or  less  attraction  to  the  locality  of  the  Ter- 
race, but  it  is  no  disadvantage,  at  least,  that  three  of  the  best  fre- 
quented summer  resorts  are  within  an  afternoon  drive  of  any  part  of 
it  —  the  West  Poi^^t  Hotel,  Cozzens's,  whick  is  a  mile  below,  and 
PowELTON  House,  which  is  five  or  six  miles  above  the  Point,  at  New- 


110  THE      II I  G  11  L  A  N  D      T  E  R  E  A  C  E . 

burgh.  For  accessibility  to  these  fashionable  haunts  of  strangers  and 
travellers,  and  the  gayeties  and  hospitalities  for  which  they  give  oppor- 
tunity—  for  enjoyment  of  military  shows  and  music  —  for  all  manner 
of  pleasure  excursions  by  land  and  water,  to  glens  and  mountain-tops, 
fishing,  hunting,  and  studying  of  the  picturesque  —  Highland  Terrace 
will  prol  )ably  be  a  centre  of  attraction  quite  unequalled. 

The  river-side  length  of  the  Terrace  is  about  five  mUes  —  Corn- 
wall at  one  end  and  Newburgii  at  the  other.  At  both  these 
places  there  are  landings  for  the  steamers,  and  from  both  these  are 
steam-ferries  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  bringing  the  fine  neigh- 
borhoods of  FisiiSKiLL  and  Cold  Spring  within  easy  reach.  'Nnw- 
BURGH  is  the  metropolis  of  the  Terrace  —  with  its  city-like  markets, 
hotels,  stores,  trades  and  mechanic  arts  —  an  epitome  of  New- York 
convenience  within  the  distance  of  an  errand.  Downing,  one  of  our 
most  eminent  horticulturists,  resides  here,  and  Powell,  one  of  the  most 
enterprising  of  our  men  of  wealth ;  and,  along  one  of  the  high  ac- 
clivities of  the  Terrace,  are  the  beautifid  country  seats  of  Durand,  our 
first  landscape  painter ;  Miller,  who  has  presented  the  neighborhood 
with  a  costly  and  beautiful  church  of  stone,  Verplanck,  Sands,  and 
many  others  whose  taste  in  grounds  and  improvements  adds  beauty 
to  the  river  diive. 

To  the  class  of  seekers  for  sites  of  rural  residence,  for  whom  we  are 
di'awing  this  picture,  the  fact  that  the  Terrace  is  heyond  svLurhan  dis- 
tance from  New-  Yorh,  will  be  one  of  its  chief  recommendations. 
What  may  be  understood  as  "  Cockney  aimoyances"  will  not  reach 
it.  But  it  will  still  be  sufliciently  and  variously  accessible  from  the  city. 
On  its  own  side  of  the  river  there  is  a  rail-route  from  Newburgh  to 
Jersey  City,  whose  first  station  is  in  the  centre  of  the  Terrace,  at 
"Vail'sGate,"  and  by  which  New-York  \\\\\  eventually  bt'  l>rought 
within  two  hours  or  less.     By  the  two  fei'ries  to  the  o])poslte  side  of 


THE      IIIOIILAND      TEIIRACE.  Ill 

tlie  river,  tlie  stations  of  the  Hudson  Railroad  are  also  accessiljle, 
bringing  tlie  city  witliin  equal  time  on  another  route.  The  many 
boats  upon  the  river,  touching  at  the  two  landings  at  all  hours  of  day 
and  night,  enable  you  to  vary  the  journey  to  and  fro,  with  sleeping, 
reading,  or  tranquil  enjoyment  of  the  scenery.  Friends  may  come  to 
you  with  positive  luxury  of  locomotion,  and  without  fatigue  ;  and  the 
monotony  of  access  to  a  place  of  residence  by  any  one  conveyance  — 
an  evil  very  commonly  complained  of —  is  delightfully  removed. 

There  is  a  very  important  advantage  of  the  Highland  Terrace, 
which  we  have  not  yet  named.  It  is  the  spot  on  the  Hudson  where  the 
txoo  greatest  thoroughfares  of  the  North  are  to  cross  each  other.  The 
intended  route  from  Boston  to  Lake  Erie,  here  intersects  the  rail-and- 
river  routes  between  New- York  and  Albany.  Coming  hj  Plainfield 
and  Hartford  to  Fishkill,  it  here  takes  ferry  to  Newburgh,  and  tra- 
verees  the  Terrace  by  the  connecting  link  already  completed  to  the 
Erie  Railroad  —  thus  bringing  Boston  within  six  or  eight  hours  of 
this  portion  of  the  river.  Western  and  Eastern  travel  will  then  be 
direct  from  this  spot,  like  Southern  and  Northern ;  and  Albany  and 
New- York,  Boston  and  Buffiilo,  will  be  four  points,  all  within  reach 
of  an  easy  excursion. 

To  many,  the  most  essential  charm  of  Highland  Terrace,  however, 
(as  a  rural  residence  in  connection  with  life  in  New- York),  wiU  be 
the  fact  that  it  is  the  nearest  accessihle  point  of  complete  inland  climate. 
Medical  science  tells  us  that  nothing  is  more  salutary  than  change  from 
the  seaboard  to  the  interior,  or  from  the  interior  to  the  seaboard ;  and, 
between  these  two  chmates,  the  ridge  of  mountains  at  West  Point 
is  the  first  effectual  separation. 

The  raw  east  winds  of  the  coast,  so  unfavorable  to  some  con- 
stitutions, are  stopped  by  this  wall  of  cloud-touching  peaks,  and, 
with  the  rapid  facilities  of  commimication  between  salt  and  fresh  aii", 


1 1 L*  THE       HIGHLAND       TERRACE. 

the  balance  can  be  adjusted  witliout  trouble  or  inconvenience,  and  as 
mucli  taken  of  either  as  is  found  liealtbful  or  pleasant.  The  trial  of 
climate  which  the  writer  has  made,  for  a  long  summer,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  these  mountainous  hiding-places  of  electricity,  the  improve- 
ment of  health  in  his  own  family,  and  the  testimony  of  many  friends 
who  have  made  the  same  experiment,  warrant  him  in  commending  it 
as  a  peculiarly  salutary  and  invigoi'atiug  air. 

We  take  pains  to  specify,  once  more,  that  it  is  to  a  certain  class, 
in  view  of  a  certain  new  phase  of  the  philosophy  of  life,  that  these  re- 
marks are  addressed.  For  those  who  must  be  in  the  city  late  and 
early  on  any  and  every  day,  the  distance  will  he  inconvenient,  unless 
with  unforeseen  advances  in  the  rate  of  locomotion.  For  those  who 
require  the  night  and  day  dissipations  of  New- York,  and  who  have 
no  resources  of  their  own,  a  nearer  residence  might  also  be  more 
desii'able.  For  mere  seekers  of  seclusion  and  economy,  it  is  too  near 
the  city,  and  the  neighborhood  would  be  too  luxurious.  But,  for 
those  who  have  their  time  in  some  degree  at  their  own  disposal  — 
who  have  competent  means  or  luxurious  iudependence  —  who  have 
rural  tastes  and  metropolitan  refinements  rationally  blended- — who 
have  families  which  they  wish  to  surround  with  the  healthful  and  ele- 
gant belongings  of  a  home,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  wish  to  keep 
pace  with  the  world,  and  enjoy  what  is  properly  and  only  enjoyable 
in  the  stir  of  cities  —  for  this  class  • —  the  class,  as  we  said  before,  made 
up  of  Leisure,  Refinement  and  Luxury  —  modern  and  recent  changes 
are  preparing  a  new  theory  of  what  is  enjoyable  in  life.  It  is  a  mix- 
ture of  city  and  country,  with  the  home  i)i  the  country.  And  the  spot 
with  the  most  advantages  for  the  first  American  trial  < if  this  new  com- 
liination,    is,    we  venture    confidently   to   record,   the    HIGHLAND 

Tl'^REACE    ENCIRCLED     IN     IHE     EXTENDED     ARM     OF    THE    JIOLNTAINS 

ABOVE  West  Point. 


WA-WA-YAN-DAII    LAKE,    NEW    JEUSEY. 

(CRO  PSE  Y.) 

AVa-wa-yan-daii  Lake  is  situated  ou  the  Wa-wa-yan-dali  Mountains,  in 
the  township  of  Vernon,  Sussex  county.  New  Jersey,  aLout  three  and 
a  half  miles  fi'om  the  boundary  between  New  York  and  New  Jersey, 
and  about  two  miles  from  the  line  between  Sussex  and  Passaic  coun- 
ties. The  word  "  Wa-wa-yau-dah,"  in  the  Indian  language,  means 
"  Winding  Stream,"  so  that  both  the  lake  and  the  mountain  deriv^e 
theii'  name  from  this  ■ —  the  Lake  and  Mountain  of  the  Winding 
Stream.  The  outlet  of  the  lake  after  winding  in  various  du'ectious 
empties  in  the  Wall-kill.  The  lake  is  called  by  the  settlers  on  the 
mountain,  the  "  Double  Pond,"  from  the  fact  that  an  island  nearly 
separates  it  into  two  ponds ;  the  water  is  of  great  depth,  fed  by  cold 
spiings,  and  produces  very  fine  trout. 

An  old  man,  named  Jeremiah  Edes,  who  formerly  lived  near  the 
lake,  tells  of  an  old  German,  who  came  there  with  a  tradition  handed 
down  to  him  from  his  grandfather,  that  a  vein  of  precious  ore  existed 
near  a  lake,  which  answered  to  the  description  of  this  one ;  which  ore 
he  was  to  seek  for  between  four  trees,  near  the  l)ank ;  that  he,  Edes, 
15 


114  WA-WA-YAN-DAU       LAKE. 

assisted  tlie  German  in  liis  search,  wliicli  after  several  montlis  resulted 
in  the  discovery  of  some  shining  metal,  of  which  the  German  took 
several  lumps  back  to  Germany,  after  carefully  hiding  the  spot,  and 
binding  Edes,  by  a  solemn  oath,  not  to  reveal  the  place. 

The  lake  is  about  one  mile  in  extent,  either  way  —  it  is  about  fif- 
teen miles  from  the  Chester  Depot  of  the  New  York  and  Erie  Rail- 
road, and  is  usually  visited  from  this  place  or  from  Greenwood  Lake. 

To  the  above  description,  kindly  furnished  by  a  friend,  we  add  an 
extract  from  a  letter  from  Mr.  Cropsey,  the  artist  whose  picture  we 
have  copied : — 

"  The  country  ls  mountainous  and  covered  mostly  by  forests ;  but 
the  Httle  ridges  and  valleys  that  he  between  the  mountains  are  culti- 
vated ;  farmhouses  dot  them  here  and  there,  amid  apple  orchards  and 
luxuriant  meadows  —  brooks  wind  through  the  meadows  or  '  linger 
with  many  a  fall'  down  the  wooded  hill-side,  snstaining  here  and  there  a 
mill,  and  then  loosing  themselves  in  some  swamp,  or  spreading  out  in 
some  placid  httle  lake  or  pond.  All  the  country,  as  I  passed  along,  was 
highly  picturesque,  possessing  to  a  great  extent  the  wild  beauty  of  the 
Catskill  and  White  INIountain  country,  combined  Avitli  the  tame  and 
cultivated  Orange  coimty,  next  which  it  hes. 

"Near  the  lake,  and  suppHed  by  its  water,  is  an  iron  work 
with  a  pretty  clearing  in  the  woods  around  —  with  numerous  neat 
little  cottages  for  the  workmen  —  a  store  —  the  manager's  house, 
and  all  that  kind  of  incident  that  indicates  a  new-made  but 
flourishing  place.  Upon  the  high  ground  near  by,  and  near  where 
my  view  was  taken,  can  be  seen  beyond  the  Sha-wau-gunk  Mountains 
the  Catskills,  and  from  another  position  not  far  distant  is  distinctly 
seen  Mount  Adam  and  Mount  Eve." 


"*V>^ 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS,  OE  THE  WESTERN  PIONEER. 


BY      HENKY      T.      TUCKEEMAN. 


The  peculiar  beauty  of  American  mountains  is  rather  incidental  tluiu 
intrinsic ;  we  seldom  gaze  upon  one  witli  the  delight  awakened  Ly  an 
individual  charm,  but  usually  on  account  of  its  grand  effect  as  part  of 
a  vast  landscape.  Our  scenery  is  on  so  large  a  scale  as  to  yield  sub- 
lime i-ather  than  distinct  impressions  ;  the  artist  feels  that  it  is  requi- 
site to  select  and  combine  the  materials  afforded  by  nature,  in  order  to 
produce  an  effective  picture ;  and  although  our  country  is  unsurpassed 
in  bold  and  lovely  scenes,  no  ordinary  patience  and  skill  are  needed 
to  choose  adequate  subjects  for  the  pencil.  The  outline  of  the  moun- 
tains is  almost  invariably  rounded  ;  the  peaks  of  Alpine  summits  and 
the  graceful  linear  curves  of  the  Apennines  render  them  far  more  pic- 
turesque. As  we  stand  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  or  the  Cat- 
skills,  the  very  immensity  of  tlie  prospect  renders  it  too  vague  for  the 
hmner ;  it  inspires  the  imagmation  more  fi-equently  than  it  satisfies 
the  eye.  Indeed,  general  effect  is  the  characteristic  of  American  sce- 
nery ;  the  levels  are  diffused  into  apparently  boundless  praiiies,  and 
the  elevations  spread  in  grand  but  monotonous  undulations ;  only  here 


IIG  OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

and  tliere  a  nook  or  a  ridge,  a  spur,  a  defile  or  a  cliff,  forms  the  nucleus 
for  an  impressive  sketcli,  or  presents  a  cluster  of  attractive  features 
limited  enough  in  extent  to  be  aptly  transferred  to  canvas.     "  High 
mountains  are  a  feeling ;"  but  here  it  is  liable  to  be  expansive  rather   < 
than    intense.      The  Alleghanies  stretch  iUimitably,  and,  as  it  were, 
beckon  forward  tlic  enthusiastic  wanderer,  while  the  Al])ii  visibly  soar 
and  lure  him  upward  ;  amid  the  latter  he  has  but  to  look  through  the 
circle  of  his  hand  to  behold  a  picture,  while  the  former  awaken  a  sense 
of  the  undefined  and  limitless,  and  thus  break  up  continually  the  per- 
ception of  details.     It  is  remarkable,  hoAvever,  that  aljout  the  centre 
of  the  range,  where  it  intersects  the  western  part  of  North  Carolina, 
the  summits  are  peaked  like  the  Alps,  and  are  disposed  waywardly 
like  the  Apennines.     Here,  too,  the  French  Broad  river,  as  it  winds 
along  the  turnpike  for  the  distance  of  forty  miles,  although  not  ua\-i- 
gable,  is  highly  picturesque  on  account  of  its  numerous  rapids  and  the 
blufts  that  line  its  course  ;  and,  while  the  autumnal  frost  produces  no  ■//"^''^  cUyt^ 
such  gorgeous  tints  in  the  foliage  around  as  make  the  western  """oods. '^/^  ^imLjl^ 
radiant  with  crimson  and  gold,  the  profusion  and  variety  of  the  ever-Oiv  a^/'JU^-- 
greens,  render  the  winter  landscape  far  more  atti'active. 

A  similar  discrepancy  attaches  to  the  moral  association  of  moun- 
tains at  home  and  abroad.  We  follow  the  track  of  invading  hosts  as 
we  cross  the  Alps,  and  are  thus  haunted  by  memorable  events  in  the 
history  of  civilization  amid  the  most  desolate  heights  of  nature ;  every 
fastness  of  the  Apennines  lias  its  legend  of  Scythian,  Gaul,  or  Roman, 
and  each  base  its  Etrurian  sepulchre.  The  chief  moral  interest  belong- 
ing to  the  Alleghanies  is  that  deiived  from  the  fact  that  they  consti- 
tute the  natural  boundary  of  the  old  and  new  settlements  of  the  conti- 
nent. The  memory  of  the  Indian,  the  hunter,  and  especially  tlie  pio- 
neer, consecrate  their  names;  and  as  we  c()ntemj)late  a  view  taken  at 
llic   |iicturesque  locality  l)efore   alluded   to,  and   illusti'atcd  by  the  an- 


OVER      THE      MOUNTAINS.  117 

nexed  landscape,  Ave  naturally  revert  to  tlie   brave  and  original  nian--*^-'''^'^-^ 
who  tlience  went  "  over  the  mountains,"  to  clear  a  pathway,  Luild  a 
lodge,  and  found  a  State  in  the  wilderness. 

There  hung,  for  many  months,  on  the  walls  of  the  Art-Union  gal- 
lery in  New- York,  a  picture  by  Ranney,  so  thoroughly  national  in  its 
subject  and  true  to  nature  in  its  execution,  that  it  was  refreshing  to 
contemplate  it,  after  being  wearied  with  far  more  ambitious  yet  less 
successful  attempts.  It  rej)resented  a  flat  ledge  of  rock,  the  summit 
of  a  high  cliif  that  projected  over  a  rich,  umbrageous  country,  upon 
which  a  band  of  hunters  leaning  on  their  rifles,  were  gazing  with  looks 
of  delighted  surprise.  The  foremost,  a  compact  and  agile,  though  not 
very  commanding  figure,  is  pointing  out  the  landscape  to  his  comrades, 
with  an  air  of  exultant  yet  calm  satisfaction ;  the  wind  lifts  his  thick 
hail-  from  a  brow  full  of  energy  and  percei^tlon;  his  loose  hunting 
shirt,  his  easy  attitude,  the  fresh  brown  tint  of  his  cheek,  and  an  in-  ^yvy,/ 

genuous,  cheerful,  determined  yet  benign  expression  of  countenance,  jy):yj,.yy^^^yf(i;jlj 
proclaim  the  hunter  and  pioneer,  the  Columbus  of  the  woods,  the  /^f^yuL^  0,^14^ 
forest  philosopher^  and  brave  champion.  The  jjicture  represents 
1  Daniel  Boone  discovering  to  his  companions  the  fertile  levels  of  Ken- 
tucky. This  remarkable  man,  although  he  does  not  appear  to  have 
originated  any  great  plans  or  borne  the  responsibility  of  an  appointed 
leader  in  the  warlike  expeditious  in  which  he  was  engaged,  possessed 
one  of  those  rarely  balanced  natures,  and  that  unpretending  efficiency 
of  chai'acter  which,  though  seldom  invested  with  historical  promi- 
nence, abound  in  personal  interest.  Without  political  knowledge,  he 
sustained  an  infant  settlement ;  destitute  of  a  military  education,  he 
proved  one  of  the  most  formidable  antagonists  the  Indians  ever  en- 
countered ;  with  no  pretensions  to  a  knowledge  of  ciAal  engineering, 
he  laid  out  the  first  road  through  the  wilderness  of  Kentucky  ;  unfa- 
miliar Avith  books,  he  reflected  deeply  and  attained  to  philosophical 


118  OVEK       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

convictions  tliat  yielded  Mm  equanimity  of  mind ;  devoid  of  poetical 
expression,  lie  had  an  extraordinary  feeling  for  natural  beauty,  and 
described  Ms  sensations  and  emotions,  amid  tlie  wild  seclusion  of  tlie 
forest,  as  prolific  of  deliglit ;  witli  manners  entirely  simple  and  unob- 
trusive, there  was  not  the  least  rudeness  in  his  demeanor ;  and  relent- 
less in  fight,  his  disj)Osition  was  thoroughly  humane ;  his  rifle  and  his 
cabin,  with  the  freedom  of  the  woods,  satisfied  his  wants ;  the  sense 
of  iusecm-ity  in  which  no  small  portion  of  his  life  was  passed,  only 
rendered  him  circumspect ;  and  his  trials  induced  a  serene  patience  and 
fortitude  ;  while  his  love  of  adventm-e  was  a  ceaseless  inspiration.  Such 
a  man  forms  an  admirable  progenitor  in  that  niu'sery  of  character — 
the  AVest ;  and  a  fine  contrast  to  the  development  elsewhere  induced 
by  the  spii-it  of  trade  and  political  ambition ;  like  the  rudely  sculp- 
tm-ed  calumets  picked  up  on  the  plantations  of  Kentucky — memorials 
of  a  primitive  race,  whose  mounds  and  copper  utensils  yet  attest  a 
people  antecedent  to  the  Indians  that  fled  before  the  advancing  settle- 
ments of  Boone — his  character  indicates  for  the  descendants  of  the 
hunters  and  pioneers,  a  bi'ave,  independent  and  noble  ancestry.  Thus,  as 
related  to  the  diverse  forms  of  national  character  in  the  various  sections 
of  the  country,  as  well  as  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  attractiveness,  the 
western  pioneer  is  an  object  of  peculiar  interest;  and  the  career  of 
Boone  is  alike  distinguished  for  its  association  with  romantic  adventure 
and  historical  fact. 

A  consecutive  narrative  however  would  yield  but  an  ineffective 
jjicture  of  his  life  as  it  exists  iii  the  light  of  symjjathetic  reflection.  The 
pioneer,  like  the  mariner,  alternates  l)etween  long  uneventful  periods 
and  moments  fraught  with  excitement ;  the  forest,  like  the  ocean,  is  mo- 
notonous as  well  as  grand  ;  and  its  tranquil  beauty,  for  weeks  together, 
may  not  be  sublimated  by  terror;  yet  in  l)oth  spheres  there  is  an 
undercurrent  of  suggestive   life,  and   when   the  spirit  of  ooniliit  and 


OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS.  119 

vio-Uauce  sleeps,  tliat  of  contemplation  is  often  alive.  Perhaps  it  is 
this  very  succession  of  "  moving  accidents"  and  lonely  quiet,  of  solemn 
repose  and  intense  activity,  that  constitutes  the  fascination  which  the 
sea  and  the  wilderness  possess  for  imaginative  minds.  They  appeal 
at  once  to  poetical  and  heroic  instincts;  and  these  are  more  fre- 
quently combined  in  the  same  individual,  than  we  usually  suppose. 
Before  attempting  to  realize  the  characteristics  of  Boone  in  their  unity, 
we  must  note  the  salient  points  in  his  experience  ;  and  this  is  best 
done  by  reviving  a  few  scenes  which  ty]3ify  the  whole  drama. 

It  is  midnight  in  the  forest ;  and,  through  the  interstices  of  its 
thickly  woven  branches,  pale  moonbeams  glimmer  on  the  emerald 
sward.  The  only  sounds  that  lireak  upon  the  brooding  silence,  are  an 
occasional  gust  of  wind  amid  the  branches  of  the  loftier  trees,  the  hoot- 
ing of  an  owl,  and,  sometimes,  the  wild  cry  of  a  beast  disappointed  of 
his  prey,  or  scared  by  the  dusky  figure  of  a  savage  on  guard  at  a 
watch-fire.  Besides  its  glowing  embers,  and  leaning  against  the  huge 
trunk  of  a  gigantic  hemlock,  sit  two  gii'ls  whose  complexion  and  habili- 
ments indicate  then-  Anglo-Saxon  origin;  theii-  hands  are  clasped 
together,  and  one  appears  to  sleep  as  her  head  rests  upon  her  com- 
panion's shoulders.  They  are  very  pale,  and  an  expression  of  anxiety 
is  evident  in  the  very  firmness  of  their  resigned  looks.  A  slight 
rustle  in  the  thick  undergrowth  near  their  camp,  causes  the  Indian 
sentinel  to  rise  quickly  to  his  feet  and  peer  in  the  dii-ection  of  the 
sound ;  a  moment  after  he  leaps  up,  with  a  piercing  shout,  and  falls 
bleeding  upon  the  ground,  whUe  the  crack  of  a  rifle  echoes  through  the 
wood ;  in  an  iastant  twenty  Indians  spring  from  around  the  fii-e,  raise 
the  war-whoop,  and  brandish  their  tomahawks ;  but  three  or  fom-  in- 
stantly drop  before  the  deadly  aim  of  the  invaders,  several  run  howl- 
ing with  pain  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  the  remainder  set  oft' 
on  an  opposite  ti'ail.     Then  calmly,  but  with  an  earnest  joy,  revealed 


l-_'()  OVER      THE      MOUNTAINS. 

by  tlie  dying  flames  upon  his  features,  a  robust,  compactly  knit  figure, 
moves  mtli  a  few  liasty  strides  towards  tlie  females,  gazes  eagerly  into 
their  faces,  lifts  one  in  his  arms  and  presses  her  momently  to  his  breast, 
gives  a  hasty  order,  and  his  seven  companions  with  the  three  in  theii" 
midst,  rapidly  i-etrace  their  way  over  the  tangled  brushwood  and  amid 
the  pillared  trunks,  until  they  come  out,  at  dawn,  upon  a  clearing, 
studded  M'ith  enormous  roots,  among  which  waves  the  tasselled  maize, 
beside  a  spacious  log-dwelling  surrounded  by  a  pallisade ;  an  eager, 
tearful  group  rush  out  to  meet  them ;  and  the  weary  and  hungry  band 
are  soon  discussing  their  midnight  adventure  over  a  substantial  break- 
fast of  game.  Thus  Boone  rescued  his  daughter  and  her  friend  when  ^^oaMi^*-^^"-^ 
they  were  taken  captive  by  the  Indians,  Avithin  sight  of  his  primitive 
dwelling  ; — an  incident  which  illustrates  more  than  pages  of  descrip- 
tion, how  closely  pioneer  presses  upon  savage  life,  and  with  what  peril 
civihzation  encroaches  upon  the  domain  of  nature. 

It  is  the  dawn  of  a  spring  day  in  the  wilderness ;  as  steals  the  gray 
pearly  light  over  the  densely  waving  tree-tops,  an  eagle  majestically 
rises  from  a  withered  bough,  and  floats  through  the  silent  air,  becom- 
ing a  mere  speck  on  the  sky  ere  he  disappears  over  the  distant  moun- 
tains ;  dew-drops  are  condensed  on  the  green  threads  of  the  pine  and 
the  swollen  buds  of  the  hickory ;  pale  bulbs  and  sj)ears  of  herbage 
shoot  fi'om  the  black  loam,  amid  the  decayed  leaves ;  in  the  inmost  re- 
cesses ftf  the  wood,  the  rabbit's  tread  is  audible,  and  the  chu'p  of  the 
squirrel ;  as  the  sunshine  expands,  a  thousand  notes  of  birds  at  Avork 
on  their  nests,  invade  the  solitude  ;  the  bear  fearlessly  laps  the  running 
stream,  and  the  elk  turns  his  graceful  head  from  the  pendant  lu-anch 
he  is  nibbling,  at  an  unusual  sound  from  the  adjacent  cane-brake ;  it  is 
a  lonely  man  rising  from  his  night  slumber ;  Avith  his  blanket  on  his 
arm  and  his  rifle  grasped  in  one  hand,  he  approaches  the  brook  and 
batlies  his  head    and   neck;  th(>n   li'lancing  aniuml,  turns  aside  the  in- 


OVER      TnE      MOUNTAINS.  121 

terw'ovcu  tliickets  uear  by,  ;uk1  elimhs  a  stony  mound  sliadowed  by  a 
fine  clump  of  oaks,  where  stands  an  liumble  but  substantial  cabin  ;  lie 
lio-hts  a  fire  upon  tlie  flat  stone  before  the  entrance,  kneads  a  cake  of 
mai^e,  while  his  venison  steak  is  broiling,  and  carefully  examines  the 
priming  of  his  rifle ;  the  meal  dispatched  with  a  hearty  rehsh,  he  closes 
the  door  of  his  lodge,  and  saunters  through  the  wilderness ;  his  eye 
roves  from  the  wild  flower  at  his  feet,  to  the  cliff  that  looms  afar  off; 
he  pauses  in  admiration  before  some  venerable  sylvan  monarch, 
watches  the  bounding  stag  his  intrusion  has  disturbed,  or  cuts  a  little 
spray  from  the  sassafras  with  the  knife  in  his  gu-dle ;  as  the  sun  rises 
higher,  he  penetrates  deeper  into  the  vast  and  beautiful  forest ;  each 
form  of  vegetable  life,  from  the  enormous  fungi  to  the  dehcate  vine- 
wreath,  the  varied  structure  of  the  trees,  the  cries  and  motions  of  the 
wild  animals  and  birds,  excite  in  his  mind  a  delightful  sense  of  infinite 
power  and  beauty  ;  he  feels,  as  he  walks,  in  every  nerve  and  vein  the 
"  glorious  privilege  of  being  independent ;"  reveries  that  bathe  his 
soul  in  a  tranquil  yet  lofty  pleasui-e,  succeed  each  other;  and  the 
sight  of  some  lovely  \Tista  induces  him  to  lie  down  upon  a  heap  of 
dead  leaves  and  lose  himself  in  contemplation.  Weariness  and  hunger, 
or  the  deepening  gloom  of  approaching  night,  at  length  warn  him 
to  retrace  his  steps ;  on  the  way,  he  shoots  a  wild  turkey  for  his 
supj)er,  sits  over  the  watch-fire,  beneath  the  solemn  firmament  of 
stars,  and  recalls  the  absent  and  loved  through  the  first  watches  of 
the  night.  jMonths  have  elapsed  since  he  has  thus  lived  alone  in  the 
wilderness,  his  brother  having  left  him  to  seek  ammunition  and  pro- 
vision at  distant  settlements.  Despondency,  for  awhile,  rendered  his 
loneliness  oppressive,  but  such  is  his  love  of  nature  and  freedom, 
his  zest  for  life  ui  the  woods  and  a  natural  self-reliance,  that  gra- 
dually he  attains  a  degree  of  happiness  which  De  Foe's  hero  might  ^-k-^^**- 
have  envied.     Nature  is   a   benign  mother,  and  whispers  consoling 


()  V  E  K       THE       .MOUNTAINS 


secrets  to  attentive  ears,  and  mysteriously  cheers  the  heart  of  her 
pure  votaries  who  truthfully  cast  themselves  on  her  bosom.  Not  thus 
serenely  however  glides  away  the  forest  life  of  our  pioneer.  He  is 
jealously  watched  by  the  Indians,  upon  whose  hunting-grounds  he  is 
encroaching ;  they  steal  iipon  his  retreat  and  make  him  captive,  and 
in  this  situation  a  new  y^hase  of  his  character  exhibits  itself.  The  soul 
that  has  been  in  long  and  intimate  communion  with  natural  grandeur 
and  beauty,  and  learned  the  scope  and  quality  of  its  own  resources, 
gains  self-possession  and  foresight.  The  prophets  of  old  did  not  resort 
to  the  desert  in  A'ain ;  and  the  1  )ravery  and  candor  of  hunters  and  sea- 
men is  ])artly  the  result  of  the  isolation  and  hardihood  of  their  lives. 
Boone  excelled  as  a  sportsman  ;  he  won  the  respect  of  his  savage 
captors  by  his  skill  and  foi'titude ;  and  more  than  once,  without  vio- 
lence, emancipated  himself,  revealed  their  bloody  schemes  to  his  coun- 
trymen, and  met  them  on  the  battle-field,  witli  a  coolness  and 
celerity  that  awoke  their  intense  astonishment.  Again  and  again,  he 
saw  his  companions  fall  before  their  tomahawks  and  rifles ;  his 
daughter,  as  Ave  have  seen,  was  stolen  from  his  \'ery  door,  though 
fortunately  rescued ;  his  son  fell  before  his  eyes  in  a  conflict  with  the 
Indians  who  opposed  their  emigration  to  Kentucky ;  his  brother  and 
his  dearest  friends  were  victims  either  to  their  strategy  or  ^^olence  ; 
his  own  immunity  is  to  l)e  accounted  for  by  the  influence  he  had  ac- 
quired over  his  foes,  which  induced  them  often  to  spare  his  life  —  an  in- 
fluence derived  from  the  extraoi'dinary  tact,  patience,  and  facility  of 
action,  which  his  experience  and  character  united  to  foster. 

Two  other  scenes  of  his  career  are  ree[uisite  to  the  ])icture.     On 
the  banks  of  the  Missouri  river,  less  than  forty  years  ago,  there  stood  ^Vf^  '*^f'  ' 
a  lew  small  rude  cabins  in  the  shape  of  a  liollow  square ;  m  one  of  i 

these,  tlic  now  venerable  figure  of  the  gallant  liuntcr  is  listlessly 
stretclicd  uipon  a  couch;    a  slice  of  Inick  twistcil  on   the   laiinnd   of  liis 


OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS.  123 

rifle,  is  roasting  by  the  fire,  Avithiu  reacli  of  his  hand  ;  he  is  still  alone, 
l)iit  the  surrounding  cabins  are  occupied  by  his  thriving  descendants. 
The  vital  energies  of  the  pioneer  are  gradually  ebbing  away,  though 
his  thick  white  locks,  well-knit  frame,  and  the  light  of  his  keen  eye, 
evidence  the  genuineness  and  prolonged  tenure  of  his  life.  Over- 
matched by  the  conditions  of  the  land  law  in  Kentucky,  and  annoyed 
by  the  march  of  civilization  in  the  regions  he  had  known  in  their 
primitive  beauty,  he  had  wandered  here,  far  from  the  state  he  founded 
and  the  haunts  of  his  manhood,  to  die  with  the  same  adventurous  and 
independent  spirit  in  which  he  had  lived.  He  occupied  some  of 
the  irksome  hours  of  confinement  incident  to  age,  in  polishing  his  own 
cherrywood  coffin  ;  and  it  is  said  he  was  found  dead  in  the  woods  at 
last,  a  few  rods  from  his  dwelling. 

On  an  autumn  day,  six  years  since,  a  hearse  might  have  been  seen 
winding  up  the  main  street  of  Frankfort,  Kentucky,  drawn  by  white 
horses,  and  garlanded  with  evergreens.  The  pall-bearers  comprised 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  state.  It  was  the  second 
funeral  of  Daniel  Boone.  By  an  act  of  the  legislature,  his  remains 
were  removed  from  the  banks  of  the  Missouri  to  the  public  cemetery 
of  the  capitol  of  Kentucky,  and  there  deposited  with  every  cei-emonial 
of  resj^ect  and  love. 

This  oblation  was  in  the  highest  degree  just  and  appropriate,  for 
the  name  of  Boone  is  identified  with  the  state  he  originally  explored, 
and  his  character  associates  itself  readily  with  that  of  her  j^eople  and 
scenery.  No  part  of  the  country  is  more  individual  in  these  respects 
than  Kentucky.  As  the  word  imports,  it  was  at  once  the  hunting  and 
battle-ground  of  savage  tribes  for  centuries ;  and  not  until  the  midtile 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  was  it  well-known  to  Anglo-Saxon  explorers. 
The  elk  and  buftalo  held  undisputed  possession  with  the  Indian ;  its 
dark  forests  served  as  a  contested  boundary  between  the  Cherokees, 


124  OVi;i;       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

Creeks  aud  Catawbaij  of  tlie  Soutli,  aud  the  Shawnees,  Delawares  aud 
"Wyandots  of  the  North ;  and  to  these  mimical  tribes  it  was  indeed  "  a 
dark  and  bloody  groimd."  Unauthenticated  exjjeditious  thither  we 
hear  of  before  that  of  Boone,  but  with  his  first  visit  the  history  of  the 
region  becomes  clear  and  progressive,  remarkable  for  its  rapid  and 
steady  progress  and  singular  foilunes.  The  same  year  that  Independ- 
ence was  declai-ed,  Virginia  made  a  county  of  the  embryo  state,  aud 
forts  scattered  at  intervals  over  the  face  of  the  country,  alone  yielded 
refiige  to  the  colonists  from  their  barbarian  invaders.  In  1778,  Du 
Quesne,  with  his  Canadian  and  Indian  army,  met  with  a  ^'igorous  re- 
pulse at  Boonesborough ;  in  1778,  occurred  Roger  Clark's  brilliant  ex- 
pedition against  the  English  forts  of  Vincennes  and  Kaskaskias  ;  and 
the  next  year,  a  single  blockhouse — the  forlorn  hope  of  advancing 
civilization — was  erected  l)y  Koljert  Patterson  where  Lexington  now 
stands;  soon  after  took  place  the  unfortunate  expedition  of  Col.  Bow- 
man against  the  Indians  of  Chilicothe ;  aud  the  Virginian  legislatm'e 
passed  the  celebrated  land  law.  This  enactment  neglected  to  pl•o^^de 
for  a  general  survey  at  the  exj^ense  of  the  government ;  each  holder  of 
a  warrant  located  therefoi'e  at  pleasure,  aud  nuide  his  own  sui'vey ; 
yet  a  si^ecial  entry  was  required  by  the  law  in  order  clearly  to  de- 
signate boundaries ;  the  vagueness  of  many  entries  rendered  the  titles 
null ;  those  of  Boone  and  men  similarly  unacquaiuted  with  legal 
writing,  were,  of  course,  destitute  of  any  accuracy  of  description ;  and 
hence  interminable  perplexity,  disputes  and  forfeitures.  The  imme- 
diate consequences  of  the  law,  however,  was  to  induce  a  flood  of 
emigration ;  and  the  fever  of  land  speculation  i-ose  and  spread  to  an 
unexampled  height ;  to  obtain  patents  for  rich  lands  became  the  ruling 
passion ;  and  simultaneous  Indian  hostilities  prevailed — so  that  Ken- 
tucky was  transformed,  all  at  once,  from  an  agricultural  and  huntiug 
region  thiuly  peopled,  to  an  arena  where  raj)acity  ami   war  swayed  a 


OVEli       THE       MUtJNTAlNS.  125 

vast  multitude.  Tlie  conflicts,  law-suits,  border  adventures,  and  per- 
sonal feuds  growing  out  of  this  condition  of  affairs,  would  yield  memo- 
rable themes,  without  number,  for  the  annalist.  To  this  e25och  suc- 
ceeded "  a  labyiinth  of  conventions."  The  position  of  Kentucky  was 
anomalous ;  the  appendage  of  a  state  unable  to  protect  her  frontier 
from  savage  invasion ;  her  future  prosperity  in  a  great  measure  de- 
pendent upon  the  glorious  river  that  bounded  her  domain,  and  the 
United  States  government  alre^ady  proposing  to  yield  the  right  of  its 
navigation  to  a  foreign  powei^^^  se];)arated  by  the  Alleghany  mountains 
from  the  populous  and  cultivated  East;  and  the  tenure  by  which 
estates  were  held  within  its  limits  quite  unsettled,  it  is  scarcely  to  be 
wondered  at,  that  reckless  political  adventurers  began  to  look  upon 
Kentucky  as  a  promising  sphere  for  their  intrigues.  Without  advert- 
ing to  any  particular  instances,  or  renewing  the  inquiry  iuto  the  mo- 
tives of  prominent  actors  in  those  scenes,  it  is  interesting  to  perceive 
how  entirely  the  intelligence  and  honor  of  the  people  triumphed  over 
selfish  ambition  and  cunning  artifice.  Foreign  governments  and 
domestic  traitors  failed  in  theii-  schemes  to  alienate  the  isolated  state 
from  the  growing  confederacy ;  repulsed  as  she  was  again  and  again 
in  her  attempts  to  secure  constitutional  freedom,  she  might  have  said 
to  the  parent  government,  with  the  repudiated  "  lady  wedded  to  the 
Moor  " — 


"  Unkindness  may  do  much, 
And  youi-  uukindness  may  achieve  my  Ul'e, 
But  never  taint  my  love." 


Kentucky  was  admitted  into  the  Union  on  the  fourth  of  Febru- 
ary, 1791. 

From  this  outline  of  her  history,  we  can  readily  perceive  how  rich 
and  varied  was  the  material  whence  has  sprung  the  Western  charac- 
ter ;  its  highest  phase  is  doubtless  to  be  found  in  Kentucky ;  and,  in 


126  OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

our  view,  best  illustrates  Ameiicau  iu  distiuctiou  from  European 
civilization.  In  the  Xortli  this  is  essentially  modified  by  the  cosmopo- 
lite influence  of  the  seaboard,  and  in  the  South,  by  a  climate  which 
assimilates  her  peoi;)le  with  those  of  the  same  latitudes  elsewhere ;  but 
iu  the  AVest,  and  especially  in  Kentucky,  we  find  the  foundation  of 
social  existence  laid  Tty  the  hunters  —  whose  love  of  the  woods,  equality 
of  condition,  habits  of  sport  and  agriculture,  and  distance  from  con- 
ventionalities, combine  to  nourish  independence,  strength  of  mind, 
candor,  and  a  fresh  and  genial  spirit.  The  ease  and  freedom  of  social 
intercourse,  the  al;)eyance  of  the  passion  for  gain,  and  the  scope  given 
to  the  play  of  character,  accordingly  developed  a  race  of  noble  apti- 
tudes ;  and  we  can  scarcely  imagine  a  more  appropriate  figure  in  the 
foreground  of  the  picture  than  Daniel  Boone,  who  embodies  the 
honesty,  intelligence,  and  chi^■alric  spirit  of  the  state.  With  a  popu- 
lation descended  from  the  extreme  sections  of  the  land,  fi-om  emi- 
grants of  New-England  as  well  as  Virginia  and  North  Carolina,  and 
whose  immediate  progenitors  were  chiefly  agiicultural  gentlemen,  a 
generous  and  spirited  character  might  have  been  prophesied  of  the 
natives  of  Kentucky ;  and  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  natural  for  a  j^eo- 
ple  thus  descended  and  with  such  habits,  to  cling  with  entire  loyalty 
to  their  parent  government,  and  to  yield,  as  they  did,  ardent  though 
injudicious  sym])athy  to  France  in  the  hour  of  her  revolutionary  crisis. 
Impulsive  and  honorable,  her  legitimate  children  belong  to  the  aris- 
tocracy of  nature ;  without  the  general  intellectual  I'efinement  of  the 
Atlantic  states,  they  possess  a  far  higher  physical  de\'elopment  and 
richer  social  instincts  ;  familiar  with  the  excessive  development  of  the 
religious  and  political  sentiments,  in  all  varieties  and  degrees,  their 
views  are  more  lu'oad  though  less  discriminate  than  those  entei-tained 
ill  older  coinniuiiities.  The  Catholic  from  .Maivland,  the  Turitan  from 
Connecticut,  and  tiit!  C^liuiclniiaii  of  Carolina,  amicably  flourish  to- 
li'ctlicr;  and    the   conscrvatiN  <■   and   fanatic  arc  alike  undisturbed  ;  the 


OVEll       THE       MOUKTAINS.  127 

convent  and  the  caraji-meetiug  Ijeing,  often  within  sight  of  each  other, 
equally  respected. 

Nature,  too,  has  been  as  liberal  as  the  social  elements  in  endowing 
Kentucky  with  interestmg  associations.  That  mysterious  fifteen  miles  J'^jt>y,<,  f^n^ 
of  subterranean  wonders  known  as  the  Mammoth  Cave, —  its  wonderful  tc^y^'-^  /«^ 
architecture,  fossil  remains,  nitrous  atmosphere,  echoes,  fish  with  only 
the  rudiment  of  an  optic  nerve, —  its  chasms  and  cataracts- — -is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  objects  in  the  world.  The  boundaries  of  the 
state  are  unequalled  hi  beauty ;  on  the  east  the  Laurel  Eidge  or  Cum- 
berland Mountain,  and  on  the  west  the  Father  of  Waters.  In  native 
trees  she  is  peculiarly  rich- — ^the  glorious  magnolia,  the  prolific  sugar- 
tree,  the  laurel  and  the  buckeye,  the  hickory  and  honey  locust,  the 
mulberry,  ash,  antl  floAviug  catalpa,  attest  in  every  village  and  road- 
side, the  sylvan  aptitudes  of  the  soil ;  while  the  thick  buftalo  grass 
and  finest  crown-imperial  in  the  world,  clothe  it  with  a  lovely  garni- 
ture. The  blue  limestone  formation  predominates,  and  its  grotesque 
clift's  and  caverns  render  much  of  the  geological  scenery  pecuhar  and 
interesting. 

The  lover  of  the  picturesque  and  characteristic,  must  often  regi'et 
that  artistic  and  literary  genius  has  not  adequately  preserved  the  origi- 
nal local  and  social  features  of  our  own  primitive  communities.  Facility 
of  intercourse  and  the  assimilating  influence  of  trade  are  rapidly  bring- 
ing the  traits  and  tendencies  of  all  parts  of  the  country  to  a  common 
level ;  yet  in  the  natives  of  each  section  in  whom  strong  idiosyncrasies 
have  kept  intact  the  original  bias  of  character,  we  find  the  most  striking 
and  suggestive  diversity.  According  to  the  glimpses  aftbrded  us  by 
tradition,  letters,  and  a  few  meagre  biographical  data,  the  eai'ly  settlers 
of  Kentucky  united  to  the  simplicity  and  honesty  of  the  New- York 
colonists,  a  high  degree  of  chivalric  feeling ;  there  was  an  heroic  vein 
induced  l;)y  familiarity  with  danger,  the  necessity  of  mutual  protection 
and  the  healthful  excitement  of  the  chase.     The  absence  of  any  marked 


128  OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

distiuctiou  of  Ijirth  or  fortune,  aud  the  liigli  estimate  placed  upou 
society  by  those  who  dwell  on  widely  separated  plantations,  caused  a 
remarkably  cordial,  hospitable  and  warm  intercourse  to  prevail,  almost 
unknown  at  the  North  and  East.  Family  honor  was  cherished  with 
pecuhar  zeal ;  and  the  women  accustomed  to  equestrian  exercises  aud 
brought  up  in  the  freedom  and  isolation  of  nature  —  their  sex  always  re- 
spected and  their  charms  thoroughly  appreciated — acquu-ed  a  spirited 
and  cheerful  development  quite  in  contrast  to  the  subdued,  uniform  tone 
of  those  educated  in  the  commercial  towns ;  their  mode  of  life  natu- 
rally generated  self-reliance  and  evoked  a  spirit  of  independence. 
Most  articles  in  use  were  of  domestic  manufacture ;  slavery  was  more 
patriarchal  in  its  character  than  in  the  other  states ;  the  j^ractice  of 
duelling,  with  its  inevitable  miseries,  had  also  the  effect  to  give  a  cer- 
tain tone  to  social  life  rarely  witnessed  in  agricultural  districts ;  and 
the  Kentucky  gentleman  was  thus  early  initiated  into  the  manly 
qualities  of  a  Nimrod  and  the  engaging  and  relialjle  one  of  a  man  of 
honoi"  and  gallantry — in  its  best  sense.  It  is  to  circumstances  like 
these  that  we  attriljute  the  cliivalric  spirit  of  the  state.  She  was  a 
somewhat  wild  member  of  the  confederacy — a  kind  of  spoiled  younger 
chUd,  with  the  faults  and  the  virtues  incident  to  her  age  and  fortunes  ; 
nerved  by  long  vigils  at  the  outposts  of  civilization, — the  wild  cat  in- 
vading her  first  school-houses  aud  the  Indians  her  scattered  cornfields, 
— and  receiving  httle  parental  recognition  from  the  central  govern- 
ment,— with  a  ])rimitivc  loyalty  of  heart,  she  repudiated  the  intrigues 
of  Genet  and  Burr,  aud  liaptized  her  counties  for  such  national  patriots 
as  Fultou  and  (iullatin.  Passing  through  a  fiery  ordeal  of  Indian 
Avarfare,  the  fever  of  land  speculation,  great  political  A"icissitude, 
unusual  legal  perplexities,  imperfect  legislation,  and  subsequently 
entire  financial  derangement, — she  has  yet  maintained  a  j)rogressive 
anil  Iii(li\i(lual  attitude;  and  seems  to  us,  in  her  most  legitimate 
sporimcns  n\'  cliaiaclcr,  more  satisfactorily  to  represent  the  national 


OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS.  129 

type,  thau  auy  other  state.  Her  culture  lias  not  been  as  refined,  nor 
her  social  sjDirit  as  versatile  and  elegant  as  in  older  communities,  but  a 
raciness,  hardihood  and  genial  freshness  of  nature  have,  for  those  very 
reasons,  more  completely  survived ;  as  a  region  whence  to  transplant 
or  graft,  if  we  may  apply  horticultural  terms  to  humanity,  Kentucky 
is  a  rich  garden.  Nor  have  these  distinctions  ceased  to  be.  Her 
greatest  statesman,  in  the  nobleness  of  his  character  and  the  extraor- 
dinary personal  regard  he  inspires,  admii'ably  illusti'ates  the  community 
of  which  Boone  was  the  characteristic  pioneer  ;  and  the  volunteers  of 
Kentucky,  in  the  Indian  wars,  under  Harrison,  and  more  recently  in 
Mexico,  have  continued  to  vindicate  theii"  bii'tkright  of  valor ;  while 
one  of  her  most  accomplished  daughters  sends  tliis  year  a  magnificent 
bed-quilt,  wrought  by  her  own  hands,  to  the  World's  Fair. 

A  Penusylvanian  l^y  l)irth,  Boone  early  emigrated  to  North  Caro- 
lina. He  appears  to  have  first  ^isited  Kentucky  in  1769.  The 
bounty  lauds  awarded  to  the  Virginia  troops  induced  surveying  expe- 
ditions to  the  Ohio  river ;  and  when  Col.  Henderson,  in  1775,  pm-- 
chased  from  the  Cherokees,  the  country  south,  of  the  Kentucky  river, 
the  knowledge  which  two  yeai's  exj^loration  had  given  Boone  of  the 
region,  and  his  already  established  reputation  for  firmness  and  adven- 
tm'e,  caused  him  to  l)e  employed  to  survey  the  country,  the  fertility 
and  picturesque  charms  of  which,  had  now  become  celebrated.  Accord- 
ingly, the  pioneer  having  satisfactorily  laid  out  a  road  through  the 
wilderness,  not  without  many  fierce  encounters  with  the  Aborigines, 
chose  a  spot  to  erect  his  log-house,  which  afterwards  became  the 
nucleus  of  a  colony,  and  the  germ  of  a  prosperous  State,  on  the  site  of 
the  present  town  of  Boonsborough.  While  transporting  his  family 
thither,  they  were  surprised  l)y  the  Indians,  and,  after  severe  loss,  so 
far  discouraged  in  theii-  ei]ter])rise  as  to  return  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ments ;  and  on  tlie  first  sun)mer  of  their  residence  in  Kentucky  oc- 
17 


130  OVER      THE      MOUNTAINS. 

curred  the  bold  abduction  of  the  two  young  gii'ls,  to  which  we  have 
previously  referred.  In  1778,  while  engaged  in  making  salt  with 
thirty  men,  at  the  lower  Blue  Licks,  Boone  was  captured,  and  while 
his  companions  were  taken  to  Detroit  on  terms  of  capitulation,  he  was 
retained  as  a  prisoner,  though  kindly  treated  and  allowed  to  hunt.  At 
Chillicothe  he  witnessed  the  extensive  preparations  of  the  Indians  to 
join  a  Canadian  expedition  against  the  infant  settlement ;  and  effecting 
his  escape,  succeeded  in  reaching  home  in  time  to  warn  the  garrison 
and  prepare  for  its  defence.  For  nine  days  he  was  besieged  by  an 
army  of  five  hundred  Indians  and  whites,  when  the  enemy  abandoned 
their  project  in  des^iair.  In  1782  he  was  engaged  in  the  memorable 
and  disastrous  battle  of  Blue  Licks,  and  accompanied  Gen.  Clarke  on 
his  expedition  to  avenge  it.  In  the  succeeding  year,  peace  with  Eng- 
land being  declared,  the  pioneer  saw  the  liberty  and  civilization  of  the 
country  he  had  known  as  a  wilderness,  only  inhabited  by  wild  beasts 
and  savages,  guaranteed  and  established.  In  1779,  having  laid  out 
the  chief  of  his  little  propei'ty  in  land  warrants, — on  his  way  from 
Kentucky  to  Richmond,  he  was  robbed  of  twenty  thousand  dollars ; 
wiser  claimants,  versed  in  the  legal  conditions,  deprived  him  of  his 
lands ;  disappointed  and  im^iatient,  he  left  the  glorious  domain  he  had 
originally  exploi-ed  and  nobly  defended,  and  became  a  voluntary  sub- 
ject of  the  King  of  Spahi,  by  making  a  new  forest  home  on  the  banks 
of  the  Missouri.  An  excursion  he  undertook,  in  1816,  to  Fort  Osage, 
a  hundred  miles  from  his  lodge,  evidences  the  unimpaired  vigor  of  his 
declining  years. 

So  indifferent  to  gain  was  Boone  tliat  he  neglected  to  secure  a  fine 
estate  rather  than  incur  the  trouble  of  a  visit  to  New  Orleans.  An 
autograph  letter,  still  extant,  proves  that  he  was  not  Uhterate ;  and 
Governor  Dunmore  of  Virginia,  had  such  entire  confidence  in  his  vigi- 
lance and  integrity  that  he  emjjloycd   liim  to  conduct  sui'veyoi's  ciglit 


OVER       THE       MOUNTAINS.  131 

huudred  miles  tlirougli  the  forest  to  the  falls  of  the  Ohio,  gave  him 
command  of  three  frontier  stations  and  sent  him  to  negotiate  treaties 
with  the  Cherokees.  It  was  a  fond  boast  with  him  that  the  first  white 
women  that  ever  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Kentucky  river,  were  his 
wife  and  daughter,  and  that  his  axe  cleft  the  first  tree  whose  timbers 
laid  the  foimdation  of  a  permanent  settlement  in  the  State  ;  he  had 
the  genuine  ambition  of  a  pioneer  and  the  native  taste  for  life  in  the 
woods  embodied  in  the  foresters  of  Scott  and  the  Leatherstocking  of 
Cooper.  He  possessed  that  restless  impulse  —  the  instinct  of  adventure 
—  the  poetry  of  action.  It  has  been  justly  said  that  "he  was  seldom 
taken  by  surprise,  never  shrunk  from  danger,  nor  cowered  beneath  ex- 
jjosure  and  fatigue."  So  accurate  were  his  woodland  observations  and 
memory,  that  he  recognised  an  ash  tree  which  he  had  notched  twenty 
years  before,  to  identify  a  locahty  ;  and  proved  the  accuracy  of  his  de- 
signation by  stripping  ofi^  the  new  bark  and  exjiosing  the  marks  of  his 
axe  beneath.  His  aim  was  so  certain,  that  during  life,  he  could  with 
ease  bark  a  squirrel,  that  is,  bring  down  the  animal,  when  on  the  top 
of  the  loftiest  tree,  by  knocking  oft'  the  bark  immediately  beneath,  kill- 
ing him  by  the  concussion. 

The  union  of  beauty  and  terror  in  the  life  of  a  pioneer,  of  so 
much  natural  courage  and  thoughtfulness  as  Boone,  is  one  of  its 
most  significant  features.  We  have  followed  his  musing  steps 
through  the  wide,  umbrageous  solitudes  he  loved,  and  marked  the 
contentment  he  experienced  in  a  log-hut  and  by  a  camp  fire  ;  but 
over  this  attractive  picture  there  ever  impended  the  shadow  of  peril 
• — in  the  foi-m  of  a  stealthy  and  cruel  foe,  the  wolf,  disease,  and 
exjwsure  to  the  elements.  Enraged  at  the  invasion  of  theii-  ancient 
hunting-groimds,  the  Indians  hovered  near  ;  while  asleep  in  the 
jungle,  following  the  plough,  or  at  his  frugal  meal,  the  pioneer  was 
hable  to  be  shot  down  by  an  unseen  rifle,  and  surrounded  Ity  an 


lo^  (IVEK       THE       MOUNTAINS. 

ambiLsli  ;  from  the  ti-auc[uil  pui'suits  of  agriculture,  at  an}'  moment,  he 
might  Ibe  summoned  to  the  battle-field,  to  rescue  a  neighbor's  projierty 
or  defend  a  solitary  outpost.  The  senses  become  acute,  the  mind  vigi- 
lant, and  the  tone  of  feeling  chivalric  under  such  discipline.  That  life 
has  a  peculiar  dignity,  even  in  the  midst  of  privation  and  however  de- 
void of  refined  culture,  which  is  entirely  self-dependent  both  for  sus- 
taiument  and  protection.  It  has,  too,  a  singular  freshness  and  anima- 
tion the  more  genial  from  being  naturally  inspired.  Compare  the 
spasmodic  eftbrts  at  hilarity,  the  forced  speech  and  hackneyed  expres- 
sion of  the  fashionable  drawing-room,  with  the  candid  mirth  and  gal- 
lant spirit  born  of  the  woodland  and  the  chase ;  —  the  powerful  sinews 
and  well-braced  nerves  of  the  pioneer  with  the  langiiid  pulse  of  the 
metropolitan  exquisite  ;  —  and  it  seems  as  if  the  fountain  of  youth  still 
buljl  )led  up  in  some  deep  recess  of  the  forest.  Philosophy,  too,  as  well 
as  health,  is  attainal^le  in  the  woods,  as  Shakespeare  has  illustrated  in 
"  As  You  Like  It ;"  and  Boone  by  his  example  and  habitual  senti- 
ments. He  said  to  his  brother,  when  they  had  lived  for  months  in  the 
yet  unex])lored  wilds  of  Kentucky,  "  You  see  hoAV  little  human  nature 
requii-es.  It  is  in  our  own  hearts  rather  than  in  the  things  around  us, 
that  we  are  to  seek  felicity.  A  man  may  be  happy  in  any  state.  It 
only  asks  a  perfect  resignation  to  the  will  of  Providence."  It  is  re- 
markal)le  that  the  two  American  characters  which  chiefly  interested 
Byron,  were  Patrick  Henry  and  Daniel  Boone  —  the  one  for  his  gift 
of  oratory,  and  the  other  for  his  philosophical  content  —  both  so 
directly  springing  from  the  resources  of  nature. 

There  is  an  afiinity  between  man  and  nature  which  conventional 
habits  keep  in  abeyance  but  do  not  extinguish.  It  is  manifested  in  the 
prevalent  taste  for  scenery,  and  the  favor  so  readily  bestowed  upon  its 
graphic  delineation  in  art  or  literature ;  but  in  addition  to  the  poetic 
love  of  nature,  as  addi'essed  to  the  sense  of  beauty,  or  tliat  ardent 


OVEK       THE       MOUNTAINS.  133 

curiosity  to  explore  its  laws  aud  plieuomeua  wliich  fluds  expression  in 
natural  science,  there  is  an  instinct  that  leads  to  a  keen  relish  of  nature 
in  her  primeval  state,  and  a  facility  in  embracing  the  life  she  ofters  in 
her  wild  and  solitary  haunts ;  a  feeling  that  seems  to  have  survived 
the  influences  of  civilization  and  developes,  when  encouraged,  by  the 
inevitable  law  of  animal  mstinct.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  with 
this  passion  for  nature  among  those  whose  lives  have  been  devoted  to 
objects  apparently  alien  to  its  existence ;  sportsmen,  pedestrians,  and 
citizens  of  rural  propensities,  indicate  its  modified  action,  while  it  is 
more  emphatically  exhibited  by  the  volunteers  who  join  caravans  to 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  deserts  of  the  East  and  the  forests  of 
Central  and  South  America,  with  no  ostensible  purpose  but  the 
gratification  arising  from  intimate  contact  with  nature  in  her  luxu- 
riant or  barren  soHtudes. 

To  one  having  but  an  inkling  of  this  sympathy,  with  a  nervous 
organization  and  an  observant  mind,  there  is,  indeed,  no  restorative  of 
the  frame  or  sweet  diversion  to  the  mind  like  a  day  in  the  woods. 
The  eft'ect  of  roaming  a  treeless  plain  or  riding  over  a  cultivated  region 
is  entirely  different.  There  is  a  certain  tranquillity  and  balm  in  the 
forest  that  heals  and  calms  the  fevered  spuit  and  quickens  the  languid 
pulses  of  the  weary  and  disheartened  with  the  breath  of  hope.  Its 
influence  on  the  animal  spirits  is  remarkable ;  and  the  senses,  released 
from  the  din  and  monotonous  limits  of  streets  and  houses,  luxuriate  in 
the  breadth  of  \Tsion  and  the  rich  variety  of  form,  hue  and  odor  which 
only  scenes  like  these  afford.  As  you  walk  in  the  shadow  of  lofty 
trees,  the  repose  and  awe  of  hearts  that  breathe  from  a  sacred  temple, 
graduaEy  lulls  the  tide  of  care  and  exalts  despondency  into  worship. 
As  your  eye  tracks  the  flickering  light  glancing  upon  the  herbage,  it 
brightens  to  recognize  the  wild-flowers  that  are  associated  with  the 
innocent  enjoyments  of  childhood  ;  to  note  the  dehcate  blossom  of  the 


134  OVER      THE      MOUNTAINS. 

■wdld  Lyacintli,  see  the  purple  asters  wave  in  tlie  breeze,  aud  the  scarlet 
berries  of  the  wiuter-green  glow  among  the  dead  leaves,  or  mark  the 
cii'cling  flight  of  the  startled  crow  and  the  sudden  leap  of  the  squirrel. 
You  pause  unconsciously  to  feel  the  springy  velvet  of  the  moss-clump, 
pluck  up  the  bulb  of  the  broad-leaved  sanguinaria,  or  examine  the  star- 
like flower  of  the  liverwort,  and  then  lifting  your  gaze  to  the  canopy 
beneath  which  you  lovingly  stroll,  greet  as  old  and  endeared  acquaint- 
ances the  noble  trees  in  their-  autumn  splendor, — the  crimson  dogwood, 
yellow  hickory  or  scarlet  maple,  whose  brilliant  hues  mingle  and  glow 
in  the  sunshine  hke  the  stained  windows  of  an  old  gothic  cathedral ; 
and  you  feel  that  it  is  as  true  to  fact  as  to  poetry  that  "  the  groves 
were  God's  first  temples."  Every  fern  at  your  feet  is  as  daintily 
carved  as  the  frieze  of  a  Gre'cian  column ;  every  vista  down  which  you 
look,  wears  more  than  Egyptian  solemnity ;  the  withered  leaves  rustle 
like  the  sighs  of  penitents,  and  the  lofty  tree-tops  send  forth  a  voice 
like  that  of  prayer.  Fresh  vines  encumber  aged  trunks,  solitary  leaves 
quiver  slowly  to  the  earth,  a  twilight  hue  chastens  the  brightness 
of  noon,  and,  all  around,  is  the  charm  of  a  mysterious  quietude  and 
seclusion  that  induces  a  dreamy  and  reverential  mood ;  while  health 
seems  wafted  from  the  balsamic  pine  and  the  elastic  turf,  aud  over  all 
broods  the  serene  blue  firmament. 

If  such  refreshment  and  inspii-ation  are  obtainable  from  a  casual 
and  temporary  visit  to  the  woods,  we  may  imagine  the  effect  of  a  length- 
ened sojourn  in  the  primeval  forest,  upon  a  nature  alive  to  its  beauty, 
wildness  and  solitude ;  aud  when  we  add  to  these,  the  zest  of  adventure, 
the  pride  of  discovery  and  that  feeling  of  sublimity  ^vliich  arises  from 
a  consciousness  of  danger  always  impending,  it  is  easy  to  I'calize  in  the 
experience  of  a  pioneer  at  once  the  most  romantic  and  pi-actical  ele- 
ments of  life.  In  our  own  history,  rich  as  it  is  in  this  species  of 
adventure,   no   individual  is  so  attractive    and    proniiiiont  as   Daniel 


OVER      THE      MOUNTAINS.  135 

Boone.  The  singular  uuion  iu  his  character  of  beuevoleuce  and  hardi- 
hood, bold  activity  and  a  meditative  disposition,  the  hazardous  enter- 
prises and  narrow  escapes  recorded  of  him,  and  the  resolute  tact  he 
displayed  in  all  emergencies,  are  materials  quite  adequate  to  a  thrilling 
narrative ;  hut  when  we  add  to  the  external  phases  of  interest,  that 
absolute  passion  for  forest  life  which  distinguished  him,  and  the  identity 
of  his  name  with  the  early  fortunes  of  the  West,  he  seems  to  combine 
the  essential  features  of  a  genuine  historical  and  thoroughly  individual 
character. 


WEST    ROCK,    NEW    HAVEN. 

BY     MARY     E.     FIELD. 

Conspicuous  among  the  lovely  places  of  New  England  is  the  elm- 
shaded  city  of  New  Haven.  It  is  a  city  by  vii-tue  of  its  population 
and  municipal  regulations ;  but  its  rui-al  appearance, — neat,  unpre- 
tending homes,  with  theii*  pleasant  court-yards  and  tasteful  gardens, 
open  squares  and  streets  overarched  with  trees,  make  one  hesitate  to 
give  it  a  name  associated  with  glare,  and  dust,  and  noise.  The  waters 
of  Long  Island  Sound  flow  softly  to  its  feet,  and  in  the  haven  thus 
formed  the  mariuer  finds  shelter  from  outside  storms. 

The  town  is  situated  on  a  plain  which  opens  northward  into  a 
beautiful  valley,  whose  guarding  hill-sides  terminate  in  two  rocky 
heights.  When  seen  from  the  harbor  below,  these  eminences  seem 
near  the  city,  and  look  like  the  sides  of  some  huge  portal  thrown  open 
in  welcome  to  the  traveller.  They  are  known  as  East  and  West 
Rock. 

It  is  one  of  these  prominent  and  most  picturesque  objects,  which  the 
artist  has  chosen  for  his  beautiful  picture.  How  truthful  are  its  outlines 
when  comj)ared  with  the  scene  iu  memory,  daguerreotyped  there  in  those 
18 


138  WEST      ROCK. 

summer  days  when  the  student  goes  to  tlie  woods  with  his  books, — • 
when  the  angler  hes  idle  by  the  brook, — and  the  j)oet  dreams  to  a 
tuneful  measure  as  he  gazes  on  the  outline  of  hills,  or  watches  the 
clouds  which  rest  over  them.  There  is  the  bold,  red  rock,  a  columned 
wall, — seamed  and  scarred,  and  piled  up  half  its  height  with  fragments 
of  stone.  There  gleams  a  village  spire  above  the  trees ;  there  are  the 
river  and  meadow  shadowed  by  summer  clouds,  and  there  the  hay- 
makers gather  their  fragrant  harvest. 

But  West  Eock  has  another  interest.  The  artist  here  gives  us  not 
only  a  beautiful  and  well-known  scene,  but  illustrates  a  passage  in 
colonial  history.  That  rugged  pile  recalls  a  story  of  trial  and  forti- 
tude, courage  and  magnanimity,  the  noblest  friendship,  and  a  fear- 
less adherence  to  political  principles  from  rehgious  motives. 

Thei-e  were  troubled  days  in  England.  The  king  had  been  false 
to  his  people,  and  had  been  adjudged  the  death  of  a  traitor.  Then 
folloM-ed  the  brief  rule  of  Cromwell,  his  death,  and  the  restoration  of 
the  monarchy.  The  enthronement  of  Charles  II.  was  the  signal  of 
flight  to  those  who  acted  as  judges  on  the  trial  of  his  father. 

Two  of  these  men,  Edward  Whalley  and  "William  Goffe,  arrived  at 
Boston  the  21th.  of  July,  1660,  in  the  very  ship  which  brought  the 
first  tidings  of  the  Bestoration.  Thej;-  were  particularly  obnoxious  to 
the  new  govei-nment  from  theii-  relationship  to  Cromwell,  theu'  political 
influence  in  the  late  Commonwealth,  the  rank  they  had  held  in  the 
armies  of  the  Parliament,  and  the  possession  of  eminent  talents  whose 
exercise  might  again  endanger  the  monarchy. 

For  a  time  they  were  safe  in  Massachusetts,  and  it  was  hoped 
they  might  be  forgotten  in  the  mother  country  and  suffered  to  live  in 
peace  in  these  remote  regions.  But  when,  some  months  later,  an  act 
of  indemnity  arrived,  and  these  men  were  specially  excluded  iVom  tlic 
general   ])ardoii,  it  became  evident  that  royal  vengeance  would   not 


WEST      liOCK.  139 

overlook  them.  Still  no  attempt  was  made  to  arrest  tlaem  until 
February,  1661,  wlieu  a  warrant  to  that  effect  arrived  from  England. 
Anticipating  this,  they  had  left  for  Connecticut  a  few  days  before,  and 
the  friendly  officers  of  justice  in  Massachusetts  were  careful  to  look  for 
them  in  another  direction. 

Ali-eady  had  the  good  Davenport,  minister  of  the  New  Haven 
colony,  prepared  his  people  to  receive  them,  teaching  them  to  "  Be 
not  forgetful  to  entertain  strangers ;"  to  "  Remember  those  in  bonds  as 
bound  with  them,"  and  citing  for  their  direction  such  passages  as 
"  Make  thy  shadow  as  the  night  ia  the  midst  of  the  noonday ;  hide 
the  outcasts ;  bewray  not  him  that  wandereth.  Let  mine  outcasts 
dwell  with  thee,  Moab ;  be  thou  a  covert  to  them  from  the  face  of 
the  spoiler."  Thus  taught,  and  the  peoj^le  of  that  colony  were  atten- 
tive to  such  instructions,  they  were  ready  to  give  the  fugitives  efficient 
protection.  Royalist  officers  pm-sued  them,  but  the  "noonday  was 
night"  around  them.  They  had  been  seen  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Daven- 
port and  elsewhere  in  town,  but  search  was  always  made  for  them  in 
the  wrong  place. 

At  last,  when  no  house  could  longer  give  them  protection  and 
then-  friends  were  endangered  by  theii-  presence.  West  Rock  furnished 
them  a  refuge.  On  its  summit  there  are  large  masses  of  stone 
irregularly  thi'own  together,  so  that  the  apertures  between  furnish  a 
recess  or  small  cave,  in  which  the  wanderers  hid  themselves.  Trees 
and  bushes  grew  thick  around,  concealing  the  entrance.  They  were 
not  forgotten  in  this  retreat.  Every  day,  and  often  both  morning  and 
evening,  a  messenger  ascended  the  height  to  carry  them  food,  and 
they  were  informed  of  all  that  passed  below.  There  they  were  com- 
paratively safe;  luit  it  was  told  them  that  their  tried  friend,  ]\Ii-. 
Davenport, Vas  exposed  to  danger  on  their  account,  and  though  the 
certainty  of  a  painftil,  humiliating  death  was  before  them,  they  de- 


140  WEST      K  O  C  K  . 

sceuded  to  tlie  town  with  tlie  intention  of  surrendering  them- 
selves to  the  royal  officers.  They  prefei'red  any  suffering  to  the  tran- 
sient peril  of  theii"  fiiend.  This  danger  was  less  alarming  than  they 
supposed,  and  they  were  persuaded  to  return  to  their  cave. 

A^Tiat  weaiy  days  and  nights  passed  over  them  in  that  solitude ! 
Those  restless  souls,  nurtured  to  battle  and  the  strife  of  political  par- 
ties, so  lately  j)rominent  in  the  terrible  struggle  at  home,  were  here 
condemned  to  inaction,  to  the  slow  wearing  out  of  life  in  loneliness 
and  dread.  They  could  look  off  upon  the  waters,  but  seldom  came  a 
vessel  up  that  bay ;  and  when  at  rare  intervals  a  white  sail  gleamed 
there,  it  only  seemed  to  mock  their  impatience  to  know  the  tidings  it 
brought, —  too  often  saddest  news  for  them. 

They  could  watch  every  approach  to  the  mountain,  and  friends 
occasionally  visited  them  there.  Stories  were  long  told  of  mysterious 
appearances  on  that  height, —  forms  as  of  human  beiugs  seen  in  mist, 
hovering  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice ;  tales  which  have  since 
resolved  themselves  into  the  morning  or  evening  stroll  on  which  the 
lonely  outcasts  ventiu'ed.  The  messenger  who  generally  carried  them 
food,  was  ignorant  for  whom  it  was  intended.  There  was  a  strange 
mystery  in  his  errand,  and  he  executed  it  with  fear,  thinking  of  appa- 
ritions the  villagers  had  seen  there.  The  emptied  cloth  or  basket  was 
always  in  its  place,  but  no  human  being  was  visible. 

But  the  Cave  on  "West  llock  had  its  own  dangers.  A  security 
fi'om  pursuing  men,  there  was  no  safety  from  the  tenants  of  the  forest. 
Wild  beasts  were  around  the  fugitives.  Roused  at  night  by  their 
howling  or  cries,  and  waked  to  see  their  glaring  eyeballs  fixed  upon 
them,  they  were  forced  to  desert  their  mountain  refuge,  and  again 
found  a  shelter  among  men. 

Years  passed  on.  Search  for  them  was  rehnquished  at  intervals 
only  to  be  renewed  with  greater  zeal ;  but  concealed  in  an  inland  \i\- 


WEST      llOCK. 


141 


lage  of  Massachusetts  *  not  all  tlie  officers  of  the  crown  could  trace 
them  out.  There  they  died,  but  their  place  of  burial  was  kept  secret, 
lest  their  ashes  should  be  dishonored.  Later  developments  seem  to 
prove  their  removal  to  New  Haven,  and  the  stranger  standing  on 
West  Rock  is  shown  the  church  in  whose  shadow  they  are  believed 
to  lie  bm-ied. 

The  panther  no  longer  screams  up  that  rocky  height,  and  the 
woods  are  cut  away,  but  the  "  Judge's  Cave"  remains.  High  on  its 
front  some  hand  has  recorded  the  political  creed  of  the  men  who 
there  suffered  exile  and  persecution :  "  Opposition  to  tyrants  is  obe- 
dience to  God."  There  may  it  remam,  the  epitaph  of  the  "  Regicides" 
as  the  Rock  is  their  memorial ! 

*  Hadley. 


THE    ERIE    RAILROAD 


(See  Title-page.) 


!Y     BAYARD      TAYLOR. 


With  the  rapid  progress  and  wider  development  of  the  great  loco- 
motive triumplis  of  the  age,  steam  travel  and  steam  navigation,  the 
vulgar  lament  over  their  introduction  is  beginning  to  disappear.  Sen- 
timental tourists  who  once  complained  that  every  nook  where  the 
poetry  of  the  Past  still  lives  —  every  hermitage  of  old  and  sacred 
associations  —  would  soon  be  invaded  by  these  merciless  embodiments 
of  the  Present  and  the  Practical,  are  now  quite  content  to  take  their 
aid,  wherever  it  may  be  had,  Ijetween  Ceylon  and  the  North  Cape. 
The  shriek  of  the  steam  whistle  is  hardly  as  musical  as  the  song  of 
the  sirens,  and  a  cushioned  car  is  not  so  romantic  as  a  gondola,  yet 
they  pass  Calypso's  isle  with  the  sound  of  one  ringing  in  their  ears, 
and  ride  into  Venice  over  the  bridged  Lagunes  in  the  other.  The 
fact  is,  it  was  only  the  innovation  which  alarmed.  Once  adoj^ted,  its 
mu-acles  of  speed,  comfort,  and  safety,  soon  silenced  the  repiuings  of 
those  who  depend  on  outward  circumstances  and  scenes  to  give  those 
blossoms  of  thought  and  sensation,  which,  without  these,  their  minds 
are  too  barren  to  pi-oduce.     "We   now  more  frequently  hear  of  the 


144  THE      ERIE      RAILROAD. 

power  and  poetic  mystery  of  the  steam-engine.  We  are  called  upon 
to  watcli  those  enormous  iron  arms  and  listen  to  the  thick  thi'obbings 
of  that  unconscious  heart,  exerting  the  strength  of  the  Titans  and  the 
Analdm  to  beat  down  the  opposing  waves  and  bear  us  forward  in  the 
teeth  of  the  terrible  winds.  We  have  been  told,  till  the  likeness  has 
grown  commonj^lace,  of  the  horse  that,  snorting  fii-e  and  smoke  from 
his  nostrils,  and  his  neck  "  clothed  with  thunder,"  skims  over  the  plain 
and  pierces  the  mountain's  heart,  outrunning  the  swift  clouds  and 
leaving  the  storm  in  his  rear.  We  shall  learn,  ere  long,  that  no  great 
gift  of  science  ever  diminishes  our  stores  of  purer  and  more  spiritual 
enjoyment,  but  rather  adds  to  their  abimdauce  and  gives  them  a 
richer  zest.  Let  the  changes  that  must  come,  come :  and  be  sure  they 
will  bring  us  more  than  they  take  away. 

No  similar  work  in  the  world  could  contribute  more  to  make  the 
Eailroad  popular  with  the  class  referred  to,  than  the  New- York  and 
Erie  Raili-oad.  This  is  by  far  the  most  striking  enterprise  of  the  kind 
which  has  yet  been  completed.  Exceeding  in  length  any  single  road 
in  the  world,  the  nature  of  the  country  through  which  it  passes,  the 
difficulties  to  be  overcome  in  its  construction,  and  the  intiinsic  charac- 
ter of  the  work  itself,  invest  it  with  an  interest  and  grandeur  which 
few  mechanical  enterprises  of  ancient  or  modern  times  possess.  Its 
course  represents,  on  a  small  scale,  the  crossing  of  a  continent.  It 
belts  four  dividing  lidges  of  mountains,  separating  five  difterent  sys- 
tems of  rivers  and  streams.  From  the  level  of  tide-water  at  New- 
Yoi-k,  it  lises  to  a  height  of  1,3GG  feet  on  crossing  the  main  ridge  of 
the  AUeghanies,  and  yet  throughout  its  whole  extent  of  four  hundred 
and  fifty  miles,  there  is  neither  an  inclined  plane  nor  a  tunnel.  The 
first  direct  line  of  communication  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  great 
Lakes  of  the  North,  it  h.-us  brought  them  ■\\itliiu  the  compass  of  a 
suiiiiiicr's  day.     The  traveller  who  sees   daybreak  gliiiiiiicr  over  the 


THE       Ell  IE       RAILROAD.  145 

waters  of  New- York  Bay,  may  watcli  the  last  tints  of  the  sunset  sink 
beliind  tlie  horizon  of  Lake  Erie. 

The  history  of  the  Erie  Railroad,  is  like  that  of  all  great  under- 
takings. It  began  with  a  ftiilure ;  it  ended  with  a  triumph.  The  first 
chai'ter  for  its  construction  was  granted  in  1832,  fixing  the  stock  at 
ten  millions  of  dollars,  but  for  several  years  little  was  done  except  to 
survey  the  route.  It  was  originally  proposed  to  construct  the  road  on 
pUes  instead  of  solid  embankments,  and  the  ruins  of  many  miles  of 
such  skeleton-work  still  stretch  along  the  valley  of  the  Canisteo.  The 
difiiculties  which  beset  the  enterprise  during  the  first  decade  of  its 
existence,  were  innumerable,  and  would  have  discouraged  less  coura- 
geous and  less  enthusiastic  men  than  its  projectors.  The  natural 
obstacles  to  be  overcome  required  an  enormous  outlay ;  the  consent  of 
Pennsylvania  was  to  be  obtained  to  the  building  of  those  parts  of  the 
road  which  lay  within  her  borders  ;  owners  of  capital  hesitated  to 
invest  it  in  an  uncertain  scheme ;  and  to  crown  all,  came  the  commer- 
cial revulsions  of  183Y,  which  for  a  time  prostrated  it  wholly.  After 
the  country  had  recovered  from  this  shock,  another  effort  was  made. 
The  State  came  to  its  relief,  and  after  a  season  of  toil  and  anxiety  the 
work  was  recommenced  and  kept  alive  till  the  prospect  of  success 
brought  all  the  wealth  to  its  aid  which  had  hitherto  been  held  back. 
Ten  years  more,  and  the  President  of  the  United  States  and  his  Cabi- 
net, with  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  City  and  State,  were  whii'led 
from  station  to  station,  from  the  Ocean  to  the  Lakes,  amid  the  thunder 
of  cannon,  the  peal  of  bells,  and  the  shouts  of  an  inauguration  grander 
even  in  its  outward  aspects  than  the  triumphal  processions  of  old 
Rome.  The  cost  of  this  stupendous  work  was  more  than  twenty 
millions  of  dollars. 

What  distinguishes  the  Erie  Road  above  aU  other  railroads  is  its 
apparent  disregard  of  natural  difficulties.  It  disdains  to  l)orrow  an 
10 


146  THE      ERIE      RAILROAD. 

underground  passage  tlu-ougli  the  heart  of  an  opposing  mountain,  but 
climbs  the  steeps,  looks  over  the  tops  of  the  pines,  and  occasionally 
touches  the  skii-t  of  a  stray  cloud.  It  descends  with  equal  facility, 
with  a  slope  in  some  places  startlingly  perceptible,  throws  its  bridges 
across  rivers,  its  viaducts  over  valleys,  and  somethnes  runs  along  the 
biiak  of  a  giddy  precipice,  with  a  fearless  secm-ity  which  very  much 
heightens  the  satisfaction  of  the  traveller.  Let  us  put  the  airy  car  of 
om'  memory  on  its  track,  and  we  shall  run  over  the  whole  Hne  before 
one  of  its  locomotives  could  pant  out  fifty  of  its  asthmatic  breathings. 
From  Piermont,  on  the  Hudson,  the  road  stretches  out  an  arm,  a 
mile  in  length,  into  the  Tappan  Bay,  and  receives  us  from  the  boat. 
Behind  the  village  there  is  a  notch  in  the  arc  of  hUls  embracing  the 
bay,  and  through  it  we  pass  into  the  old  fields  of  Kockland,  with  theii" 
old  walk  and  old,  red,  Dutch  farmhouses.  A  few  miles  —  and  the 
long,  sweeping  outline  of  Ramapo  Mountain  rises  before  us ;  the  beau- 
tiful Ramapo  Valley  lies  below,  and  the  little  village,  with  its  foun- 
dries and  forges,  nearly  two  centmies  old,  stands  in  the  mouth  of  the 
only  pass  whereby  the  mountain  is  pierced  m  all  its  extent  —  the 
Clove  of  Ramapo.  Through  this  pass,  of  eight  mUes  in  length,  winds 
a  rivulet,  now  spreading  into  a  tiny  mountain  lake,  now  fretting  over 
the  rocks,  and  leaping  hither  and  thither  in  a  chain  of  liidced  cascades. 
The  road  follows  the  rivulet  into  the  grazing  farms  of  Goshen  —  rich, 
upland  meadoAvs,  dotted  with  trees  and  breathing  of  the  cream  and 
milk  and  butter  that  load  a  daily  train  to  the  meti'opolis.  This  region 
is  passed  and  again  the  mountains  appear,  the  Catskills  blue  in  the 
north,  but  the  rugged  Shawangunk  lying  across  our  path.  Up,  up  we 
go,  fifty  feet  to  the  mile,  and  are  soon  high  on  the  side,  looking  over 
its  forests  into  the  deep  basin  of  the  NeAosing,  which  pours  its  waters 
into  the  Delaware.  Port  Jervis,  a  station  on  the  line,  seems  at  our 
feet ;  it  is  five  hundred  feet  below  us,  but  sliding  down  ten  miks  in 
almost  sf)  many  minutes,  we  are  there. 


THE       E  li  I E       RAILROAD. 


U1 


The  road  now  crosses  the  Delaware  into  Peuusylvauia,  aud  for  a 
distance  of  seventy  or  eighty  miles  follows  the  bank  of  the  river 
throuo-h  wild  and  rngged  scenery.     For  several  miles  the  track  has 
been  laid,  with  immense  labor  and  cost,  on  the  top  of  a  precipice 
nearly  one  hmidi-ed  feet  in  height  and  falling  sheer  to  the  river.   Much 
of  the  country  is  the  primitive  wilderness,  which  has  never  yet  been 
reclaimed.     Finally,  at  Deposit,  not  far  from  the  source  of  the  Dela- 
ware, the  road  turns  westward  and  crosses  the  Alleghanies  to  the  val- 
ley of  the  Susquehanna.     Between  the  two  rivers  there  is  also  a  com- 
plete wilderness,  uninhabited  except  by  the  workmen  belonging  to  the 
road.     Notwithstanding  a  summit  cut  of  200  feet  deep,  which  cost 
$200,000,  the  ascending  and  descending  grades  are  very  heavy,  and 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  portions  of  the  work  are  to  be  found  at 
this  point.    After  striking  the  Susquehanna,  our  journey  lies  for  nearly 
one  hundred  and  fifty  mUes  in  the  rich  and  picturesque  valleys  of  that 
river  and  its  tributaries,  the  Tioga  and  the  Canisteo,  passing  through 
the  flourishing  towns  of  Binghamtou,  Owego,  Elmira,  and  Corning. 
Overlooking  the  superb  meadows  and  rolling  grain-fields,  the  Allegha- 
nies  or  spurs  of  them  are  always  in  sight,  and  on  either  side  we  have 
a  rapidly  unrolling  panorama  of  such  rural  beauty  as  would  have  be- 
wildered old  Cuyp  and  Eysdael.     Another  dividing  ridge,  less  steep 
and  rugged  than  the  previous,  and  we  descend  through  virgin  forests, 
some  of  which  are  swept  away  by  fire  to  make  room  for  the  settler,  to 
the  Alleghany  River.      Hence,  to  Lake  Erie,  our  course  is  mainly 
through  a  wUd  aud  uncultivated  region,  or  seeming  so,  after  the  boun- 
tiful valleys  we  have  left.     We  cross  the  Indian  Reservation ;  catch  a 
glimpse  of  some  aboriginal  idlers  in  wampum  and  moccason ;  again 
climb  a  range  of  hilLs,  several  hundred  feet  in  height,  from  whose  sides 
we  overlook  valleys  and  levels  of  wild  woodland,  and  at  last  reach  a 
curve,  where,  beyond  the  far  sweep  of  the  dark  forest,  we  see  the 


148  TUE       EUIK       IIAILROAD. 

edge  of  the  aky  crossed  by  a  liiie  of  ileepei'  lilue  and  kuow  that  we 
behold  Lake  Erie.     Is  uot  all  this  euuiigh  for  a  suiuiners  day? 

The  bold  design  of  this  road  involved  the  necessity  of  a  number 
of  gi'and  and  costly  works.  The  track  itself,  in  the  Pass  of  Ramapo, 
and  along  the  Upper  Delawai'e,  frequently  cost  upwards  of  $100,000 
per  mile.  The  Starucca  Viaduct,  an  immense  structure  of  hewn  stone, 
crossing  the  valley  at  Lansingburg,  is  the  finest  work  of  the  kind  in 
this  country.  It  is  1,200  feet  long,  consisting  of  18  arches  114  feet  in 
height,  and  was  erected  at  a  cost  of  $300,000.  Next  to  this,  in  point 
of  importance,  and  more  remarkable  in  its  chai-acter,  is  the  bridge 
over  Cascade  Eaviue,  which  is  crossed  in  the  descent  fi'om  the  summit 
ridge  of  the  Alleghanies  to  the  Susquehanna.  The  mountain  is  here 
interrupted  by  a  deep  gorge  or  chasm,  through  the  bottom  of  which 
a  small  stream  tumbles  in  its  foamy  course.  Across  this  gulf,  184  feet 
in  depth,  a  single  arch  of  280  feet  span  has  been  tkroAvn,  its  abut- 
ments resting  on  the  solid  crags.  This  daring  arch,  which,  to  the 
spectator  below,  seems  hung  in  mid-air,  was  eighteen  months  in  build- 
ing, and  cost  $70,000.  A  little  to  the  north  the  gorge  opens  into  the 
Valley  of  the  Susquehanna,  disclosing  through  its  rugged  jaws  the 
most  beautiful  landscape  seen  on  the  road. 

It  was  the  good  fortune  of  the  writer  to  be  one  of  the  guests  in 
the  first  train  which  passed  over  the  Cascade  Eaviue  Bridge.  At  the 
close  of  December,  1848,  the  line  was  opened  from  Port  Jervis  to 
Binghamton,  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles.  The 
incidents  of  that  first  journey  by  steam  through  the  wilderness,  in  the 
depth  of  winter,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  by  those  who  took  part  in 
it.  The  Shawangunk  Mountains  were  topped  with  snow  as  we  passed 
them,  and  on  taking  the  new  track,  beyond  Port  Jervis,  the  flakes 
began  to  fall  thick  and  fast.  The  Delaware  ran  at  the  foot  of  the 
wild  bluils  choked  with  masses  of  ice,  and  each  of  its  many  windings 


TUE       EUIE       RAILROAD.  149 

dbsclosed  a  more  drear  and  wintry  prospect.  The  liemlocks  bent 
under  tlieii-  white  load ;  the  river  ran  cold  and  dark ;  the  frozen  cas- 
cades hung  from  the  rocks,  like  masses  of  transparent  spar.  For  many 
a  mile  there  was  no  sign  of  liuman  habitation  —  notliiug  but  the 
grand  and  desolate  solitude  of  the  mountains.  And  yet  —  wonder 
beyond  tlie  tales  of  Sclielierazade !  —  our  superb  train  carried  a  lieart 
of  luxury  into  that  savage  realm.  We  sped  along,  swiftly  as  tlie  bii'd 
flies,  in  a  warm  and  richly  furnisked  chamber,  lounging  on  soft  seats, 
half  arm-chaii-  and  half  couch,  apparently  as  disconnected  fi'om  the 
landscape  as  a  loose  leaf  blown  over  it  by  the  winds.  In  that  plea- 
sant climate  of  our  own  we  keard  tke  keen  aii-  wkistle  witkout,  and 
tke  ligkt  patter  of  tke  snow  against  tke  windows,  witk  a  sense  of  com- 
fort rendered  doubly  paljjable  by  tke  contrast. 

At  tke  little  villages  on  tke  route,  triumpkal  arckes  of  fir  and 
kemlock  bougks  were  built  for  us,  upon  wkick  autlered  bucks,  brougkt 
m  by  tke  kunters,  stood  straigkt  and  stiff.  Every  town  wkick  could 
boast  a  cannon,  gave  a  kearty  salute,  and  as  tke  early  nightfall  came 
on,  bonfires  were  ligkted  on  tke  kills.  It  was  after  dark  wken  we  left 
Deposit,  and  tke  snow  was  a  foot  deep  on  tke  track,  but  witk  two 
locomotives  plowing  tkrougk  tke  di'ifts,  we  toiled  slowly  to  tke  sum- 
mit. After  we  kad  passed  tke  deep  cut  and  kad  entered  on  tke  de- 
scending grade,  it  was  found  tkat  in  consequence  of  tke  snow  ka\dng 
melted  around  tke  rails  and  afterwards  frozen  again,  tke  breaks  at- 
tacked to  tke  cars  would  not  act.  Tke  wkeels  slipped  over  tke  icy 
sm-face,  and  in  spite  of  tke  amount  of  snow  tkat  kad  fallen,  we  skot 
down  tke  mountain  at  tke  rate  of  forty  miles  an  kour.  Tke  ligkt  of 
our  lamps  skowed  us  tke  wkite  banks  on  eitker  kand;  tke  gkostly 
trees  above  and  tke  storm  tkat  drove  over  all:  beyond  tkis,  all  was 
darkness.  Some  anxiety  was  felt  as  we  aj)proacked  tke  Bridge  over 
Cascade  Ravine ;  tke  time  was  not  auspicious  for  tkis  first  test  of  its 


150  THE       ERIE       KAILROAD. 

solidity.  Every  eye  peered  into  the  gloom,  watcliing  for  the  ci'itical 
spot,  as  we  dashed  onwards.  At  last,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the 
mountain-sides  above  and  below  us  dro})pcd  out  of  sight,  and  left  us 
looking  out  on  the  void  air.  The  lamps  enabled  us  to  see  for  an  in- 
stant, through  the  falliug  snow-flakes,  the  sharp  tops  of  pines  fai- 
below.  For  a  second  or  two  we  hung  above  them,  suspended  over 
the  terrible  gulf,  and  then  every  one  drew  a  deej)  breath  as  we  touched 
the  sohd  rock  which  forms  the  abutment  of  the  arch.  But  om-  com'se 
was  not  checked  tiU  we  reached  the  Suscjuehanna  Valley,  where  we 
sped  on  past  bonfii'es  blazing  redly  over  the  snow,  till  the  boom  of 
minute-guns  and  the  screams  of  our  strong-lunged  locomotives  startled 
the  inhabitants  of  Binghamton  at  midnight. 

On  our  return,  the  following  day,  we  reached  the  Cascade  Ravine 
in  the  afternoon,  and  a  halt  was  made  to  enable  us  to  view  the  bridge 
from  below.  Scrambling  through  the  snow,  down  the  slippery  de- 
clivities, we  at  last  reached  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  and  looked  up  at 
the  wonderful  arch,  which  spanned  it  as  lightly  as  a  rainbow.  Firm- 
set  on  its  base  of  eternal  granite,  it  gave  not  the  slightest  quiver  when 
oui"  train  j)assed  over.  Although  made  of  perishable  materials,  it  Avill 
last  as  long  as  they  hold  together,  for  its  mountain  abutments  cannot 
be  shaken.  Seen  from  below,  the  impression  it  makes  upon  the  eye 
is  most  complete  and  satisfactory,  combining  the  extreme  of  hghtness 
and  grace  witli  strength  and  inflexible  solidity.  A  few  yards  fm-ther 
up  the  mountain,  the  cloven  chasm,  over  which  the  gnarled  pines  hang 
theu'  sombre  boughs,  widens  to  a  rocky  basin,  into  which  falls  a  cas- 
cade seventy  feet  in  height,  Avheuce  the  ravine  takes  its  name.  The 
accompanying  engra^^ng,  from  the  ^^ew  taken  by  JNIr.  Tall)ot,  though 
it  may  appear  exaggerated  to  one  wlio  has  never  beheld  the  reality, 
conveys  no  more  than  a  just  idea  of  the  bold  and  striking  character 
of  this  work. 


THE    CHUECII    OP   THE    HOLY    INNOCENTS, 

WEST    POINT. 

The  Clmrcli  of  the  Holy  luuoceuts  is  situated  on  tlie  west  Lank  of 
tlie  Hudson,  in  tlie  very  lieai't  of  tlie  Highlands,  and  about  a  mile 
south  of  the  Military  Academy  at  West  Point. 

It  was  built  in  the  years  '46  and  '47,  and  consecrated  in  July  of 
the  latter  year  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Delancey. 

Rumor  has  so  highly  colored  the  history  of  its  origin,  as  to  enlist 
in  its  behalf  a  degree  of  interest  which  may  not  be  materially  lessened 
by  a  simple  statement  of  the  truth. 

MTiile  two  or  three  persons  at  West  Point  were  contemplating  a 
place  for  the  erection  of  a  Church,  somewhere  near  the  spot  on  which 
the  one  in  question  now  stands,  for  the  benefit  of  the  neighboring 
population,  and  as  a  centre  of  missionary  operations  in  the  surround- 
ing country,  embracing  a  large  section  of  the  Highlands,  one  of  their 
number  —  Prof.  R.  W.  Weir  —  moved  by  an  afilictive  dispensation  of 
God's  providence,  in  the  death  of  a  child,  made  an  ofiering,  of  that 
child's  portion,  to  God,  as  the  beginning  of  a  fund  for  the  buildiug  of 
a  Church  to  be  called  "  The  Church  of  the  Holy  Innocents^  He  sub- 
sequently added  to  this  sum  other  offerings  of  his  own,  and  of  a  few 


152  CHURCH     OF     the     holy     innocents. 

otlier  pei-sous  at  West  Point  and  elsewhere,  wlio  felt  an  interest  in  the 
undertaking.  The  simple,  Lut  chaste  and  beautiful  sanctuary,  erected 
to  "  the  honor  and  glory  of  God,"  is  the  fruit  of  these  oiferings. 

The  plan  of  the  Church,  both  in  its  outline  and  details,  was  fur- 
nished by  Mr.  Weir,  who  also  superintended  its  erection.  The  stone 
of  which  it  Ls  built  was  taken  from  the  land  on  which  the  Church 
stands,  and  which  was  the  gift  of  Mr.  W.  B.  Cozzens. 

The  Church  is  somewhat  in  the  early  English  style  of  architec- 
ture ;  cruciform  in  plan,  the  nave  being  about  GO  feet  by  28  (on  the 
outside),  and  each  of  the  transepts  lOi  feet  by  19.  There  is  an  admi- 
rably well  proportioned  Tower  at  the  north-east  corner,  48  feet  in 
height,  and  Hi  feet  square  at  the  base.  One  of  the  most  beautiful 
external  features  of  the  sacred  edifice,  is  the  low  south  porcli^  which  is 
its  principal  entrance.  Over  the  door  of  this  porch  there  is  a  tablet 
with  the  simple  inscription,  "  To  the  honor  and  glory  of  God."  Sm-- 
mounting  the  east  end  of  the  nave,  and  also  the  porch,  are  two  flori- 
ated crosses. 

In  the  position  of  the  Church  the  ride  of  orientation  has  been 
observed,  the  chancel  pointing  towards  the  east,  and  the  altar  being 
in  the  eastern  end. 

On  entering  the  porch  the  eye  is  at  once  arrested  by  a  text  of 
Holy  Scripture  written  over  the  inner  door :  "  O  !  come  let  us  wor- 
ship and  fall  down  and  kneel  before  the  Lord  our  Maker."  On  enter- 
ing the  Church  itself,  the  eye  is  again  met  every  where  with  texts  of 
Holy  Scripture.  Over  every  door,  on  every  window,  over  the  altar, 
over  the  font,  on  the  walls,  and  in  each  of  the  windows,  texts  chosen 
with  peculiar  aptness  convey  their  sacred  teachings  to  the  devout  wor- 
sliipper:^ — e.  g.^  over  the  altar  are  the  words,  "As  often  as  ye  eat  this 
bread  and  diink  this  cup,  ye  show  the  Lord's  dcatli  until  lie  conic ;" 
over  the  font,   "Exce])t  a  man  be  born  of  water  and  tlic  S|)irit.  lie 


CHURCH       OF       THE       HOLY       INNOCENTS.  158 

cannot  enter  tlie  kingdom  of  God ;"  over  the  door  by  wliich  the  Priest 
enters  the  Church  to  engage  in  his  holy  functions,  "  As  my  Father 
hath  sent  me,  even  so  send  I  you ;"  over  the  windows  the  texts  are  all 
words  of  Thai-se. 

In  the  south  transept,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Church,  stands  the 
Bai^tismal  Font,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  this  country,  octagon 
shaped,  with  sacred  symbols  carved  on  the  sides.  It  is  of  the  granite 
of  the  Highlands,  3i  feet  m  height,  and  the  bowl  74  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence. The  windows,  deeply  splayed  on  the  inside,  are  of  stained 
glass ;  in  the  centre  of  each  is  a  plain  white  cross,  on  the  tran verse 
beam  of  which  is  a  passage  of  Holy  Scripture  chosen  from  the  divine 
sayings  of  our  Lord. 

The  seats  are  plain,  open  benches,  and  free  to  all  worshippers.  The 
wamscoting  and  walls  are  of  a  grave  and  sober  color.  The  chancel 
occupies  at  present  the  head  of  the  cross,  bat  this,  it  is  hoped,  wiU  be 
only  a  temporary  arrangement. 

The  whole  interior^  marked  by  unity  of  design,  by  perfect  sira- 
phcity,  and  by  a  quiet  solemnity,  cannot  fail  to  shed  its  hallowing, 
subduing  influence  over  the  soul  of  every  worshipper  who  enters  there, 
in  sincerity  and  truth,  to  worship  Almighty  God ;  while  the  exterior  of 
the  sacred  temple,  with  its  gray,  unhewn  walls,  its  very  irregular  out- 
line, its  simple  rural  aspect,  harmonizes  most  strikingly  with  the  rough, 
wild  mountain  scenery  in  the  midst  of  which  it  seems  to  have  sprung 
up,  itself  a  work  of  nature.  And  its  tower,  pointing  heavenward,  its 
cruciform  outline,  its  cross-crowned  peak,  tell  unmistakably  its  holy  cha- 
racter, and  serve  to  remmd  all  who  enter  or  behold  it,  lx)th  of  tlie 
end  and  of  the  faith  to  which  God  is  calling  them.* 

*  For  the  preceding  notice  we  are  indebted  to  the  Rev.  W.  B.  Gibson,  the  Rector  of 
the  Church. 

20 


1^ 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  HOUSATONIC 


!Y     WILLIAM     CULLEN     BRYANT. 


The  landscape  of  Gignoux,  engraved  for  tliis  volume,  representing  a 
■winter  scene,  belongs  to  a  class  of  subjects  wliicli  lie  always  treats 
well.  With  him  winter  is  always  a  season  of  splendor.  The  crisp 
snow  lies  glittering  where  it  was  dropped  from  the  clouds  or  cast  by 
the  wind,  an  intense  sunshine  fills  the  transj^areut  sky,  and  is  reflected 
from  the  white  clouds,  and  penetrates  the  pellucid  ice.  The  figures  he 
introduces  are  shown  in  movements  which  have  all  the  vivacity  be- 
longing to  the  season. 

Gignoux  is  a  native  of  France,  who  for  many  years  has  made  this 
country  his  home,  and  learned  to  love  its  scenery  with  all  the  aflection 
of  one  who  passed  his  childhood  here.  He  is  never  tired  of  wander- 
ing by  our  -^vild  streams,  of  studying  our  boundless  woods,  with  theii' 
vast  variety  of  foliage,  of  climbing  our  rocky  mountains  and  looking 
down  into  the  pleasant  valleys  that  stretch  away  in  our  clear  and 
glowing  atmosphere.  To  him  Nature  makes  no  reserve  of  her  hidden 
beauties,  and  his  portfolio,  filled  with  studies  of  places  the  image  ot 


1 56  THE      VALLEY      OF      THE      Jit)  U  S  A  T  O  N  I  C  . 

whioh  Avas  never  before  tlirowu  upon  canvtis,  is  one  of  the  richest  ever 
possessed  by  landscape  painter. 

In  this  view  lie  shows  us  the  Valley  of  the  Housatonic  at  New 
Milford,  where  the  river,  in  its  passage  to  the  sea,  takes  its  leave  of 
the  more  beautiful  parts  of  the  country  through  which  its  flows.  The 
time  is  early  winter,  as  is  shown  by  the  tufts  of  sere  foHage  yet  cling- 
ing to  the  trees  and  shrubs.  Skaters  are  pursuing  their  sj)ort  in  the 
foreground,  a  sleigh  is  passing  swiftly  over  a  rude  wooden  bridge 
which  crosses  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Housatonic,  and  beyond,  in 
the  distance,  rises  the  line  of  cold  Ijlue  hills  which  bound  the  valley. 
The  snow  has  fallen  through  the  naked  trees  to  the  earth,  leaAdng  the 
sides  and  summits  of  the  hills  dark  with  their  branches. 

Below  New  Milford,  the  valley  of  the  Housatonic,  if  it  may  still 
be  called  a  valley,  wears  a  tamer  aspect.  Let  me,  in  a  few  words, 
trace  the  river  in  its  progress  to  the  ocean.  The  Housatonic  has  its 
birth  among  the  highlands  of  Berkshire  in  the  State  of  Massachusetts. 
Here  it  sports  and  sings  away  its  infancy  in  the  woods,  leaping  in  its 
frolics  from  one  rock  to  another.  Of  the  brooks  that  form  its  current 
some  luiger  in  the  rich  meadows  of  Lauesborough,  where  the  lime- 
stone SOU  nourishes  a  thick  growth  of  gi'ass  and  gives  a  peeidiar  dense- 
ness  to  the  foliage  of  the  trees.  If  I  may  trust  to  my  I'ecoUection  I 
have  never  observed  the  same  freshness  and  brightness  of  verdure  in 
the  fields  of  any  part  of  our  country  as  in  that  neighborhood.  As 
the  stream  increases  in  volume  and  strength,  its  season  of  play  is  over, 
and  entering  the  In-oad  and  beautiful  vale  of  Pittsfield,  in  what  I  may 
call  the  period  of  its  youth,  it  is  set  to  toil  for  man,  and  drives  the 
machinery  of  cotton  and  woollen  mills.  Escaped  from  this  servitude 
it  murmurs  awhile  in  the  narrow  and  woody  valleys  of  Lenox,  where 
it  is  oidy  of  late  that  the  kmgfisher  has  been  startled  by  the  t^lirill 
whistle  of  the  railway  engine,  but  it  is  soon  (^mjiloyed  in  other  tasks  — 


THE      VALLEY      OP      THE      HO  US  ATONIC.  157 

to  lift  ;iu(l  let  fall  the  j^oudei-ous  hammers  of  forges  and  make  acres 
of  paper  for  the  daily  press.  In  Stockbridge  it  begins  to  put  on  the 
majesty  of  manhood  and  winds  backwards  and  forwards  among  the 
grassy  natural  terraces  and  maple  woods,  as  if  unwilling  to  leave  so 
fair  a  region.  In  Great  Barrington  it  flows  slowly  through  meadows 
hemmed  in  by  the  picturesque  summits  of  craggy  mountain  ridges.  In 
Sheffield  it  has  formed,  by  mining  the  ground  for  centuries,  a  vast  plain 
of  six  miles  in  width,  reaching  to  the  base  of  the  Taconic,  the  highest 
mountain  along  its  course,  dark,  grand,  and  sending  scores  of  clear 
rivulets  down  his  steep  sides  to  swell  the  current  of  his  own  fau-  river. 
In  Canaan  the  Housatonic  casts  its  entire  volume  of  amber-colored 
waters  down  a  precipice  of  sixty  feet  in  height,  an  overhanging  shelf, 
as  is  the  case  with  most  of  the  waterfalls  in  this  country,  the  layers  of 
rock  below  having  crumbled  away,  while  the  uppermost  remains  firm. 
It  then  pursues  its  way  through  a  sort  of  glen,  bounded  east  and  west 
by  ridges  rich  with  massive  woods,  and  fields  running  up  their  sides 
into  the  forest,  till  it  reaches  New  IVIilford,  the  scene  of  Gignoux's 
picture.  In  all  the  places  I  have  enumerated  it  turns  huge  wheels  and 
labors  in  the  mills,  but  a  few  miles  below  New  Milford  it  lays  itself 
sluggishly  down  between  level  banks  and  creeps  to  its  final  resting 
place  in  the  ocean.  From  Derby  downward  to  the  Sound  it  is  navi- 
gable, passively  bearing  out  and  bringing  in  a  vessel  now  and  then  — 
like  an  aged  man,  retii^ed  from  the  active  employments  of  life,  and 
good-naturedly  carrying  his  grandchildren  in  his  arms. 

The  tributaries  of  the  Housatonic  are  no  less  beautiful  than  the 
river  itself.  The  lake  in  Stockbridge,  a  wonder  of  beauty,  which  the 
birth  and  residence  of  Miss  Sedgwick  in  its  neighborhood  have  made 
classical  —  I  mention  the  name  of  the  lady  without  reserve  as  I  would 
that  of  any  other  person  held  in  universal  honor,  —  gives  the  tribute 
of  its  waters  to  the  Housatonic.     In  Great  Barrington,  Green  River 


158  THE      VALLEY      OE      TilE      II  U  U  S  A  T  U  N  I  (J  . 

comes  iu  Iroiu  tlie  west  tlirougli  cliarmiiig  pastoral  solitudes,  with  a 
current  almost  of  a  grass-green  tint.  The  sister  lakes  in  Salisbury, 
issue  in  a  brook  wliicli  falls  into  this  river.  I  am  not  certain  wketlier 
the  stream  of  Baskpisli,  so  mucli  visited  of  late,  wliicli  throws  itself 
down  the  steep  sides  of  Taconic  in  a  series  of  falls,  flows  into  the 
riousatonic  or  not,  but  the  cascade  by  universal  consent  is  reckoned 
among  the  beautiful  and  picturescpe  things  of  tlie  valley. 

Some  of  the  most  remarkable  atmosjjlieric  appearances  observed 
in  this  valley  do  not  present  themselves  to  the  casual  visitor,  though 
he  be  an  artist.  I  rememljer  one  of  these  altogether  too  glorious  to 
be  copied  by  the  pencil.  A  thnnder-shower  had  arisen  after  a  hot 
summer  day.  As  the  thunderbolts  were  dropping  into  the  tops  of  the 
hills  around,  and  the  rain  falhng  in  torrents,  the  sun,  then  about  to 
set,  illuminated  the  whole  mass  of  clouds  and  i-ain,  with  an  orange- 
colored  light,  which  gradually  passed  into  a  deep  crimson.  The  inner 
rooms  of  the  houses  were  filled  with  the  same  ruddy  lustre,  which  ght- 
tered  reflected  from  the  pools  and  streams  in  the  road,  and  from  the 
wet  roofs  of  the  houses,  the  grass,  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees.  Above, 
the  spectacle  was  still  more  extraordinary.  The  hghtniugs  were  lim- 
ning to  and  fro,  appearing  like  ri\Tilets  of  molten  gold,  suddenly 
j)oured  through  the  crimson  clouds  and  as  suddenly  absorbed  into 
them.  The  crimson  glow  slowly  changed  into  a  purple  as  the  clouds 
were  retiring,  and  the  last  flashes  of  the  lightning  and  the  last  tinges 
of  the  clouds  were  blended  with  the  cool  blue  light  of  the  full  moon 
shining  from  a  sky  of  perfect  transparency. 

At  another  time  when  at  Sheflield,  I  was  a  spectator  of  a  thunder- 
shower  no  less  remarkable.  After  a  day  of  extreme  sultriness,  the 
clouds  began  to  rise  behind  Taconic  and  over  its  summit,  with  the 
muttcrings  of  distant  thunder.  Up  they  were  heaved,  higher  and 
higliei-,  (hirkcr  and  darker,  heavier  and  hcaviei',  till  they  became  of  a 


THE      VALLEY      OF      THE      11  O  U  S  A  T  O  N  I  C  .  150 

deep  indigo  tiut,  and  seemed  as  if  the  steeps  of  a  for  loftier  mountain, 
one  of  tlie  Alps  or  the  Andes,  had  been  heaped  upon  Taconic.  Sud- 
denly the  huge  mass  began  to  roll  downwards  with  louder  crashes  of 
thunder,  towards  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  as  if  it  had  broken  over 
a  barrier,  carrying  with  it  the  strange  indigo  hue  and  an  intense  dark- 
ness, and  sending  before  it  winds  which  scoured  the  plain  and  raised 
clouds  of  dust,  and  filled  the  sky  with  leaves  rent  from  the  trees.  I 
have  never  seen  any  aspect  of  the  clouds  so  grand  and  awful  as  the 
apjiroaches  of  that  thunder-shower. 

It  was  some  time  about  the  begiuning  of  the  last  century  that  the 
Dutch  emigrants  from  the  State  of  New- York,  and  the  settlers  from 
Connecticut  and  the  eastern  part  of  Massachusetts  came  at  the  same 
time  uito  the  valley  of  the  Hoasatoiiic.  The  descendants  of  the 
Hollanders  chose  Great  Barrington  and  its  neighborhood  for  their 
abode,  where  they  had  large  farms  on  the  rich  lauds  borderiug  this 
river,  and  ke^^t  large  herds  of  cattle  and  horses.  Their  posterity,  some- 
what intermingled  with  the  English  race,  remaiu  there  yet,  and  I 
recollect  that  twenty-five  years  since  they  gave  e\T:dence  in  their  per- 
sons— for  they  were  large-limbed  men,  almost  colossal  in  size — of  the 
eft'ect  of  a  mixture  of  nations  ujjon  the  human  stature.  In  some  of 
the  households  Dutch  was  still  the  language  of  the  fireside,  and  those 
who  were  adopted  into  them,  learned  it  as  a  matter  of  course, 
though  they  were  often  laughed  at  for  the  imperfect  manner  in  which 
they  spoke  it.  I  recollect  one  of  these  tall  Dutchmen  boasting  of  the 
progress  made  in  the  tongue  by  a  little  boy  who  had  come  to  live 
iu  his  family.  I  met  the  same  man  a  few  years  since,  and  was  inform- 
ed by  him  that  he  had  lost  his  wife  long  ago  and  had  nearly  forgotten 
his  Dutch.     I  infer  that  it  is  no  longer  a  living  language  in  Berkshire. 

But  I  have  often  reflected  upon  what  would  have  been  the  conse- 
quence if  the  power  of  England  had  met  the  fate  which  befell  the 


IGO         THE  VALLEY  OF  TUE  HOUSATOKIC. 

power  of  Ilollaud,  aud  if  tliat  republic  had  iloiirislied,  wliile  England 
fell  into  decay.  The  Dutch  emigration  would,  of  course,  have  filled 
the  valley  of  the  Housatonic.  Bilderdijk  would  have  been  at  this 
moment  the  favorite  poet  of  the  people  on  that  river ;  the  romances 
of  Loosjes  would  have  taken  the  place  of  those  of  "Walter  Scott ;  the 
more  devout  would  have  read  the  sermons  of  Van  der  Palm,  aud  the 
lovers  of  mirth  would  have  laughed  at  the  jokes  of  Weiland.  So  far 
as  concerns  the  fine  arts,  the  dwellings  would  have  been  more  pic- 
turesque, comfortable  Dutch  houses  with  low  roofs  and  spacious  stoops, 
embowered  in  trees,  instead  of  the  gi'im,  naked,  and  tasteless  habitations 
of  the  Yankees.  The  painters  who  sought  their  subjects  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  valley  would  have  painted  interiors  after  the  man- 
ner of  Teniers,  or  elaborate  and  highly  finished  landscapes,  in  which 
fidelity  to  nature  was  more  regarded  than  the  selection  of  objects,  after 
the  manner  of  Cuyp. 


THE    ADIRONDACK    MOUNTAINS 


BY     ALFRED     B.     STREET. 

Upox  a  ))eautil'ul  July  eveuiug,  the  writer  was  passing  up  Lake 
Cliauiplaiu  in  oue  of  tlie  fine  steamboats  that  ply  upon  its  lovely 
waters.  Happening  to  raise  his  eyes  from  the  plaia  of  glass  which 
stretched  before  him,  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  mountain  mass 
tracing  an  irregular  Hne  against  the  golden  background  of  the  West. 
Just  over  the  highest  peak  was  the  descending  sun,  and  the  whole 
mass  was  invested  with  an  azure  hue  soft  as  a  remembered  sorrow, 
and  sweet  as  a  hope  of  the  future.  It  seemed  as  if  seraphic  music 
might  breathe  from  that  dreamy  mist,  as  if  on  those  summits  rested 
the  quietude  of  heaven.     It  was  the  mass  of  the  Adirondacks. 

These  splendid  mountains  form  a  group,  the  loftiest  of  a  range 
which  extends,  in  the  Northern  section  of  New-Yoi'k,  from  Little 
Falls  on  the  Mohawk  to  Tremljleau  Point  on  Lake  Champlaia.  The 
group  heaves  up  into  and  above  the  clouds  its  cone-like  peaks  and 
jagged  ridges,  which  seem,  from  some  commanding  view,  as  if  a  stormy 
ocean  had  become  suddenly  fixed  in  its  wildest  tossings.  The  range 
in  which  occurs  this  group  runs  in  a  northeasterly  dii-ectiou,  forming 

21 


162  THE      ADIIIONDACK      MOUNTAINS. 

the  easterly  and  most  elevated  portion  of  what  is  deuominated  the 
Plateau  of  Northern  New- York — which  Plateau  is  bounded  l)y  the 
waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  Ontario,  the  Black  and  Mohawk 
rivers  and  Lake  Champlain.  The  group  is  composed  of  several 
summits,  the  loftiest  of  which  are  Mounts  Marcy,  Mclntyre,  McMar- 
tin  and  Santanoni,  the  two  latter  rising  5000  feet  above  the  tide,  and 
the  two  former  over  that  elevation.  The  highest  is  Mount  Marcy 
(the  Indian  name  being  Ta-ha-wus  —  "He  splits  the  Sky"),  the 
loftiest  eminence  in  our  State,  raising  itself  to  a  mile  in  height. 
From  its  summit  of  gray  rock  is  a  forest  prospect,  three  hundred 
miles  in  circumference.  The  forked  lightning  darts  from  clouds  far, 
far  below  this  peak,  and  the  fir  which  on  the  sides  of  the  mountain 
rises  to  a  stately  shape,  diminishes  to  a  creeping  shrub,  and  at  last 
vanishes  from  the  face  of  the  stern  cold  summit.  Near  it  springs 
the  most  northern  source  of  the  Hudson,  whilst  the  whole  group, 
forming  the  highest  portion  of  the  northern  watershed,  pours  its 
streams,  which  become  majestic  rivers,  in  all  directions. 

Manifold  lakes  lie  along  the  bases  of  these  wild  mountains,  whose 
crystal  bosoms  are  only  disturbed  by  the  canoe  of  the  Indian  hunter, 
or  casual  sportsman,  the  leap  of  the  monster  trout,  the  dip  of  the 
screaming  diver,  or  the  motions  of  the  swimming  deer.  Such  are 
lakes  Golden,  Avalanche,  Sanford,  and  Henderson. 

A  dense  forest  mantles  the  slopes  and  valleys  of  the  region,  within 
which  live  the  splendid  moose,  the  lurking  panther,  the  dark  heavy 
bear,  and  quick  timid  deer.  In  a  few  shaded  streams  still  linger  the 
heaver,  the  loneliest  of  the  forest  habitants,  known  only  to  the  most 
indefatigable  traj)pe]-. 

The  Adirondack  Pass  in  this  group  is  wild  and  savage  as  the 
imagination  can  conceive.  Situated  between  Mount  Mclntyre  and 
Wallface,  a  perpendiculiu-  pi'ccipice  of  a  thousand  feet  rears  itself  on 


THE      ADIRONDACK      MOUNTAINS.  163 

one  side,  upon  the  summit  of  wliicli  lofty  firs  apj^ear,  like  a  frino'e, 
a  few  inches  in  height,  whilst  the  gorge  itself  is  piled  with  rocks  upon 
which  grow  trees  of  fifty  feet. 

It  is  a  sublime  cathedral  of  nature,  whose  stillness  awes  the  soul, 
and  whose  voice,  supplied  by  the  storm,  hft  a  tremendous  anthem  to 
the  God  whose  wonderful  power  was  employed  in  its  creation. 

Such  is  the  Adirondack  region,  smTOunded  by  the  smiling  civiliza- 
tion of  om-  Empu-e  State,  but  remaining  still  as  countless  centuries 
have  seen  it,  probably  since  the  waters  of  the  Deluge. 


SCAROON    OR    SCHROON   LAKE. 

(cole.) 

The  engraving  represents  one  of  the  wildest  and  most  beautiful 
Lakes  in  the  State  of  New  York,  and  probably  in  the  United  States. 
It  is  situated  partly  in  the  counties  of  Warren  and  Essex,  is  nine  miles 
long  and  aljout  one  mile  wide.  The  view  is  taken  from  an  island  in 
the  north  end  of  the  Lake,  at  the  time  when 

"  Twilight's  sliade  comes  stealing  on, 
O'er  mountain,  wood,  and  stream, 
Wrapping  the  dim,  far-stretching  Lake 
In  a  hush'd  and  lioly  dream." 

It  is  peculiarly  American  in  its  character,  being  both  wild  and 
pictm-esque,  and  one  which  the  artist  delighted  to  portray. 

Schroon,  PJiaraos  or  Bluebeard  Mountain,  which  is  the  most  pro- 
minent peak  in  the  picture,  is  about  four  mUes  from  the  Lake,  and 
attains  an  altitude  of  3,200  feet.  The  more  distant  are  the  peaks  of 
the  Eastern  range  of  the  Adirondacks.  That  at  the  right  of  the  en- 
graving is  the  Saddleljack  Mountain.  The  shores  of  the  Lake  are 
covered  Avitli  the  dense  foliage  as  seen  in  the  engraving. 


166  SCAEOON      OR      SCHROON      LAKE. 

The  red  cedar  in  tlie  foregrouud  is  oue  of  tlie  nol)le  trees  which 
abound  on  the  borders  of  the  Mountain  Lakes  in  this  section  of  our 
country,  interspersed  with  the  maple,  hemlock,  and  pine.  Around  the 
extreme  pomt,  jutting  into  the  Lake  and  seen  through  the  trees,  flows 
the  uol)le  Hudson,  which  at  this  point  is  but  a  very  small  stream,  and 
which  connects  Schroon  with  Paradox  Lake. 

The  island  from  which  the  scene  was  taken,  is  owned  and  is  now 
the  residence  of  Andrew  Ireland,  Esq.,  formerly  of  this  city,  from  the 
north  end  of  which  a  magnificent  view  of  the  whole  eastern  range  of 
the  Adu'ondacks  may  be  had.  The  name  of  the  lamented  Cole  is 
identified  with  American  Scenery,  and  while  he  continued  to  paint  the 
scenery  of  America,  he  was  unapproached.  He  it  was  that  first  gave 
the  Amei'icau  landscape  character,  and  whose  genius  delighted  in  poi'- 
traying  the  wild  and  romantic  beauty  of  her  forests,  lakes,  and  water- 
falls, and  who  so  truthfully  presented  to  the  admiring  eye  the  gran- 
deur of  her  sunsets,  tornadoes,  and  autumn's  gorgeous  livery.  He  it 
was  who  first  taught  us  tliat  we  need  not  leave  our  own  wild  and 
beautiful  scenery  for  sul)jects  snitaT)le  for  pictorial  embellishment. 
The  scene  here  given  is  but  one  of  America's  magnificent  Lakes,  and 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  we  have  not  more  views  of  the  Lakes  of 
Essex  from  the  pencil  of  this  favorite  artist.  The  accompanymg  en- 
graving is  made  from  the  original  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Cole,  who 
has  many  of  the  remaining  productions  of  this  distinguished  painter. 


ART  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

BY     GEO.     W.     BETHUNE,      D.    D.  * 

The  comprelieusive  title  at  the  head  of  this  page  is  not  a  promise  of 
a  formal  essay,  but  has  heen  taken  as  a  convenient  because  sufficiently 
expansible  heading,  to  cover  some  desultory  remarks  suggested  by  the 
rapid  growth  among  us,  during  the  last  few  years,  of  talent  and  taste 
for  Art. 

The  American  has  frequent  occasion  to  say,  in  answer  to  hasty 
strictures  of  foreigners,  particularly  those  from  Great  Britain,  that 
they  "  do  not  understand  us  ;"  and  the  reply,  irrepressible  from  its 
truth,  has  been  much  ridiculed  by  our  transatlantic  cousins,  as  if  it 
were  easy  to  draw  conclusions  from  superficial  facts.  The  reverse  is, 
however,  the  case,  both  from  the  difficulty  of  knowing  all  the  facts, 
and  the  necessity  of  having  a  right  point  of  view.  As,  because  of 
the  variety,  which  gives  indi^aduahty  of  character,  no  one  man  can 
thoroughly  understand  another,  but  each  has  received  a  distinctness 
from  his  pecuhar  temperament,  mental  structure,  early  circumstances, 
and  all  those  influences  which  make  up  his  education,  so  we  may  well 
doubt  the  ability  of  an  observer,  however  candid  and  intelhgent,  to 


168  AKT       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES. 

luiderstaiul  the  people  of  auother  uatiou.  Forms  of  governnieiit, 
climate,  pursuits  of  life  as  affected  by  soil  or  position,  descent  whether 
pure  or  mixed,  seclusion  from  other  portions  of  mankind  or  inter- 
course with  them,  historical  associations,  hereditary  habits  and  preju- 
dices, language,  literature,  religion,  with  many  other  less  sorutable  )jut 
imjDortaut  coalescing  causes,  render  each  nation  an  enigma  to  all 
others.  Civilization  is  a  mystery  to  the  savage,  and  the  savage  no  less 
a  mystery  to  his  civilized  brother.  A  Laplander  and  an  Arab,  if 
thrown  together,  would  scarcely  agree  in  aught  but  the  appetites,  pas- 
sions, and  faculties  common  to  man.  An  adult  Turk  could  never  be 
turned  into  an  Anglo-Saxon,  nor  an  Anglo-Saxon  into  a  Turk ;  they 
might  exchange  countries  and  garments,  but,  while  life  lasted,  the  one 
would  delight  to  steal  away  from  the  bustle  around  him  that  he  might 
enjoy  in  cross-legged  repose  his  revery  of  trustful  fatalism,  and  the 
other  would  shuffle  forth  in  his  slippers  eager  after  the  latest  news. 
It  is  hardly  more  possiljle  for  an  Englishman  to  comprehend  a 
Frenchman,  or  a  Frenchman  an  Englishman,  though  they  have  been 
within  a  few  hours  of  each  other  since  time  immemorial.  Solid  John 
Bull  looks  upon  the  grimaces  of  his  mercurial  neighljor,  as  upon  the 
tricks  of  a  mountebank's  monkey,  while  he  of  the  Grande  Nation^ 
shrugging  his  elastic  shoulders,  returns  the  contempt  by  muttering, 
"  BC^e .'"  How  utterly  strange  to  us  in  this  country  is  the  readiness 
with  which  the  revolutionary  masses  of  the  old  world,  after  months  of 
fire  and  carnage  and  bluster,  subside  before  the  Ttayonets  of  an  auto- 
crat !  Aud  how  far  beyond  the  concejition  of  European  statesman- 
ship is  the  simple  law  by  which  the  very  multiplicity  of  our  well- 
guarded  state  sovereignties  best  secures  our  national  union  ! 

Tliere  arc  strong  retisons  why  our  American  charaetcristics  are 
slowly  understood  by  others;  biassed  through  our  reading  of  histori- 
cal pi'ecedents,  we  are  apt  to  judge  incorrectly  of  ourselves ;  nor  can 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  109 

any  question  touching  our  manners  or  tendencies,  be  properly  dis- 
cussed without  going  over  and  carefully  considering  the  circumstances 
in  which  they  have  been  developed.  Our  origin,  situation,  constitu- 
ents, and  manner  of  growth,  are  so  unexampled  as  almost  to  exclude 
analogy.  Compared  with  all  others,  ancient  or  modern,  our  nation  is 
an  anomaly.  Coming  into  being  when  the  mind  of  Europe,  especially 
of  Great  Britain,  had  reached  a  high  degree  of  cultivated  strength, 
the  American  people  sprung  less  from  the  loins  than  from  the  brain  of 
her  great  parent,  not,  indeed,  full-grown,  but  with  a  precocious  vigor 
far  beyond  childhood.  The  early  colonists  of  British  race  were,  for 
the  most  part,  of  that  stern,  indomitable  faith,  which,  loyal  to  a  divine 
sovereign,  unhesitatingly  challenged  human  usurpations.  Those  from 
Holland,  then  just  emancipated,  after  a  long  struggle  with  bigot 
Spain,  and  the  Huguenot  exiles,  preferring  expatriation  to  apostacy, 
were  of  the  same  liberty-loving,  yet  severe  creed.  Religious  sympa- 
thy prepared  them  for  political  co-ojjeratiou ;  and  they,  acting  really 
long  before  they  acted  formally  together,  gave,  as  the  predominating 
element,  a  unity  of  purpose  to  the  scattered  settlements,  Avhich  could 
not  othen\dse  have  been  expected  from  their  heterogeneous  origin. 
Educated  by  difficulties  in  the  old  world,  they  were  ready  to  meet, 
with  intelligent,  hopeful  courage,  the  difficulties  of  the  new.  They 
were  also  of  equal  rank,  and,  for  the  most  part,  equal  fortunes. 
Hereditary  nobility  and  privileged  classes  were  not  recognized  among 
them.  Such  pretensions,  where  personal  labor  was  required  of  all, 
would  have  been  ridiculous.  Oppressed,  at  times,  by  the  imperial  ex- 
actions of  the  mother  country,  and  the  insolence  of  its  proconsular 
representatives,  they  yet  could  not  be  debarred  the  filial  prerogative 
of  using  the  English  tongue  and  the  unequalled  stores  of  wisdom,  po- 
litical, literary,  and  religious,  already  provided  by  English  pens. 

The  land  in  which  they  sought  a  new  home,  seemed  to  have  been 
99 


ITO  ART      IN      THE      UNITED      STATES. 

reserved  by  a  jiredetermining  Providence  for  tliem.  Other  great 
states,  established  by  conquest  or  colonization,  have  been  founded 
among  pre-resident  tribes,  who,  miagling  with  the  new-comers,  have 
exerted  an  influence,  sometimes  not  small,  upon  the  character  of  the 
future  nation.  Unless  we  utterly  discredit  their  traditionary  annals, 
we  find  Pelasgic  names  interspersed  among  the  Cecropida^  of  Athens ; 
and  trace  the  growth  of  Rome  in  her  successive  engorgements  of 
neighboring  peoj^le.  The  excellence  of  the  present  British  character 
is  fairly  attriljutalde  to  the  fusion  of  several  bloods  in  one.  But  the 
aborigines  of  this  country,  too  few  and  too  savage  to  cidtivate  the 
wilderness,  resisted  feel)ly  the  disciphned  invaders,  while  theii-  color, 
liut  still  more  their  siugxdar  spirit,  forbade  amalgamation.  Our  fathers 
had  the  whole  country  to  themselves,  and  found  here  neither  arts,  nor 
customs,  nor  alliances.  Separated  by  a  wide  ocean  from  the  inveterate 
prejudices  and  hereditary  proscriptions  which  retard  older  nations, 
they  had  opportunity  for  ex|)eriment ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  their 
commercial  enterprise,  the  main  secret  of  Anglo-Saxon  superiority, 
brought  them  the  stimulants  of  example  and  emulation.  Their  insti- 
tutions were  not  indigenous,  l)ut  havdng  been  first  selected  from  what 
they  considered  the  best  stocks  of  Europe,  then  modified  and  adapted 
to  theii'  exigencies  and  views  by  various  intergraftings,  they  grew 
rapidly  and  fruitfully  in  the  virgin  soil.  Thus  the  principles  of  our 
government  were  educed,  not  from  the  hypotheses  of  Utopian  philoso- 
phers, or  slavish  imitations,  or  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  elements,  oi- 
even  from  the  mere  pressure  of  circumstances,  but  from  a  sturdy  com- 
mon sense,  regulated  by  scriptm-al  faith,  inij^roved  by  study,  warned 
by  the  failures  and  encouraged  by  the  successes  of  all  antecedent 
time,  animnted  l)y  an  insatiable  thirst  fi)r  lil)erty,  compelled  l>y  tlie 
vital  necessity  of  union,  and  supported  by  physical  strength  earned  in 
felling  forests  and  subduing  wild  farms.     In  a  happy  hour  the  govern- 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  171 

ment  was  independently  establislied.  Since  then,  on  that  broad,  and, 
as  every  true  heart  hopes,  indestructible  basis,  our  nation  has  been 
built  up  from  prohfic  natural  increase  and  emigration  to  us  out  of  op- 
pressed and  over-peopled  countries.  Our  territories  have  been  wide- 
ly, yet  safely  enlarged,  until  now  a  broad  region  between  the  sea,  on 
whose  shores  the  early  settlers  landed,  and  the  Pacilic,  over  which  the 
eager  eye  of  our  enterprise  looks  out  for  fresh  aggrandisements,  is 
mhabited  by  a  brotherhood  governed  hj  the  one  law  of  theii-  own 
consent. 

Under  the  pressure  of  such  cares,  and  struggles,  and  urgent  anxie- 
ties, there  could  be  neither  time  nor  desire  for  the  cultivation  of  those 
elegant  pursuits  which  are  the  luxury  of  leisure,  the  decoration  of 
wealth,  and  the  charm  of  refinement.     The  Puritans  and  the  Presby- 
terians, together  the  most  influential,  were  not  favorable  to  the  Fine 
Arts ;  and  the  Quakers  abjured  them.     Men  living  in  log  cabins  and 
busied  all  the  day  in  field,  workshop,  or  warehouse,  and  hable  to 
attack  by  savage  enemies  at  any  moment,  were  mdisposed  to  seek 
after  or   encourage  what  was  not   immediately  useful.     Their  hard- 
earned  and  precarious  gains  would  not  justify  the  indulgence.     There 
were  few,   or  rather  no  specimens  of  artistic  skill  among  them  to 
awaken  taste  or  imitation.     It  is,  therefore,  httle  to  be  wondered  at,  if 
they  did  not  show  an  appreciation  of  Ai-t  proportionate  to  their  ad- 
vance in  other  moral  respects ;  or  that  they  waited  until  they  had 
secured   a   substantial   prosperity,   before   they  ventured   to   gratify 
themselves  with  the  beautiful.     The  brilhant  examples  of  West  and 
Copley,  with  some  others  of  inferior  note,  showed  the  presence  of 
genius,  but  those  artists  found  abroad  the  encouragement  and  instruc- 
tion not  attainable  at  home,  thus  depriving  theii-  country  of  all  share 
in  theii-  fame  except  the  credit  of  having  given  them  bii-th. 

As  a  sense  of  security  and  increasing  riches  began  to  be  felt,  about 


172  ART      IN      THE      UNITED      STATES. 

tlie  l)egimuiig  of  the  century,  we  discover  tokens  of  ;i  more  generous 
spirit.  Distinguislied  men  returned  from  honorable  missions  with  an 
appetite  for  Art,  excited  by  what  they  had  seen  in  the  capitals  of 
Europe.  The  enthusiasm  and  example  of  Peale,  Stuart,  Trumbull, 
and  others  native-born  and  foreigners,  could  not  be  without  etfect. 
Aspirants  to  the  honors  of  the  pencil  and  burin  became  numerous 
enough  to  form  associations  for  their  mutual  benefit;  and,  at  least 
among  the  better  few,  a  disposition  to  encourage  their  efforts  was  ap- 
parent. Two  valuable  collections  of  casts  fi'om  the  antique  were  ob- 
tained ;  one  for  the  New- York  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  through  Chan- 
cellor Luv'iNGSTON ;  the  other  for  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  at  Phi- 
ladelphia, through  the  zeal  of  Judge  Hopkinson  ;  some  good  pictures 
were  imported,  and  some  good,  with  many  inferior,  produced  at  home ; 
the  Academies  and  Artists'  Associations  attempted  exhibitions,  private 
entei'prise  oj^ened  others,  and,  doubtless,  though  not  eminently  suc- 
cessful, they  all  contributed  to  impi'ove  the  taste  of  the  public.  In- 
creasing wealth,  means  of  communication  with  the  old  world,  and  the 
travel  of  many  Americans  abroad,  rapidly  extended  a  spii-it  favorable 
to  Art  in  every  form,  which  was  yet  more  stimulated  by  the  rise 
among  us,  almost  simultaneously,  of  men  whose  genius  in  several  de- 
partments of  jiainting  and  of  sculptui'e,  startled  and  delighted  us  with 
a  galaxy  of  talent  deserving  eminence  among  cotemporaneous  com- 
petitors in  any  j^art  of  the  world.  Some  of  them  are  still  living, 
others  have  died  too  soon ;  but  their  brilliant  names  need  not  l)e  writ- 
ten here,  for  they  are  inscribed  high  in  the  records  of  theii*  country's 
fame  and  on  the  hearts  of  us  all.  Since  then,  especially  since  the 
establishment  of  the  National  Academy  of  Design,  (of  which  our  most 
h()noral)ly  distinguished  but  ill-rerpiited  fellow-citizen,  S.  P.  B.  Morse, 
was  the  first  President,)  in  182G,  and  more  esjiecially  within  tlie  last 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  173 

ten  years,  large  advances  have  been  made,  and  Ai't  has  fairly  liegun 
to  floui'isli  among  us,  giving  rich  earnest  of  yet  higlier  attainments. 

There  has  been  and  Avill  be  dispute  as  to  the  comparative  efficiency 
of  the  various  means  which  have  been  adopted  for  the  encouragement 
of  Art  in  the  United  States.  Institutions  and  individuals  contend  for 
the  honor,  and  some  deserve  more  of  it  than  others ;  but  our  office  is 
not  to  settle  such  quarrels.  There  should,  however,  be  no  recrimina- 
tions between  Artists  and  the  friends  (patrons  is  an  ungenerous  word) 
of  Ai-t.  Each  class  is  necessarj^  to  the  other.  It  is  a  false  (and,  hap- 
pily, now  nearly  obsolete)  policy,  to  force  through  the  fundamental 
laws  of  supply  and  demand.  Men  will  not  consent  to  be  scolded  or 
ridiculed  out  of  theu-  money ;  and  if  they  prefer  bull-feasts,  or  gaudy 
furniture,  or  miserly  accumulation  to  pictures  or  statuary,  their  money 
is  their  own,  nor  have  we  a  right  to  take  it  out  of  their  hands.  We 
may  be  pained  to  think  that  any  are  disappointed,  when  we  could  re- 
joice in  the  success  of  all  the  deserving ;  yet  it  must  not  be  forgotten, 
that  in  the  compensating  distributions  of  Providence,  genius,  so  libe- 
rally endowed  with  its  own  exquisite  pleasures,  can  rarely  expect  the 
profits  of  trade.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  artist  to  instruct  us  by  his  own 
beautiful  and  elevating  works ;  and,  when  we  have  been  so  educated 
in  the  high  moral  uses  and  noble  gratifications  to  be  derived  from  Art, 
we  should  be  indeed  ungrateful  if  the  due  of  the  master  be  withheld. 
The  distribution  of  good  specimens  through  the  community,  however 
accomplished,  is  the  only  sure  method  of  spreading  a  desire  for  more, 
and  the  harvest  will  repay  the  seed  manifold.  In  the  language  of 
Holy  Writ,  there  must  be  "  a  patient  continuance  in  well-doing"  by 
those  who  "  look  for  glory  and  honor ;"  but  "  in  due  season  they  shall 
reap  if  they  fiiint  not."  Nor  have  the  profits  of  our  artists  been  alto- 
gether contemptible ;  for,  while  we  regret  that,  owing  j^rincipally  to 
the  smallness  of  American  fortmies,  some  of  the  best  have  not  brought 


174  ART       IN       THE       liNITKD       STATES. 

their  value,  it  is  also  certain  that  works  of  art  geiiei'ally  meet  with 
fair  pi'ices ;  and  thei'e  is  no  conntr}-  where  so  large  a  proportion  of  its 
artists  are  living  comfortably  on  their  earnings,  or  where  the  gains  ot 
talent  in  Art  compares  so  favorably  with  those  of  equal  talent  in  other 
pursuits  of  life,  as  this.  We  may  rebuke  and  even  lash  the  stupid  indif- 
fei'ence  of  those  able,  yet  unwilling,  to  encourage  liberally  the  eflfoi-ts 
of  genius  ;  but  it  degrades  Art  to  set  it  whining  after  patronage,  or  to 
confound  it  with  every  self-inflated  aspirant  to  the  name  of  artist  who 
has  set  up  an  easel,  trims  his  beard  a  la  Van  Dyke,  and  in  the  very 
outset  imagines  himself  a  compeer  of  Raffaele.  Happily,  the  very 
great  majority  of  our  recognized  artists  are  gentlemen  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word,  shunning  the  bad  taste  of  eccentricity,  and  despising 
charlatanry ;  while  they  depend  for  success  on  their  own  generous  de- 
votion to  their  elevated  calhng,  and  patient  enthusiasm  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  gifts  with  which  the  good  God  has  endowed  them.  They 
will  not  lose  their  reward. 

The  main  features  of  human  nature  must  be  radically  the  same, 
however  various  the  modifications  of  which  they  are  capable ;  and, 
though  there  have  been  peculiar  reasons  for  the  delay  of  Art  among 
us,  yet  its  history  in  this  country  has  not  been  altogether  singular. 
The  rise  and  progress  of  Art  are  justly  attriljutable  to  concurrent  and 
successive  natural  causes  working  out,  through  the  agency  of  man 
under  the  economy  of  a  wise  providence,  the  beneficent  designs  of 
God.  Wealth  and  jiolitical  stability  have  always  preceded  Art ;  but 
where  those  have  been  gained,  its  progress  has  been  proportionate, 
because  it  meets  with  that  innate  fondness  for  beauty  and  imitation  of 
His  divine  works  which  is  a  universal  attiibute  of  the  creatui-e  made 
after  the  image  of  his  Creator.  Taste  and  genius  exist  among  every 
people,  and,  where  depressing  circumstances  give  place  to  more  favor- 
able, they  will  appear  and  compel  regard,  whatever  be  the  ]')articular 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  1Y5 

machinery  by  wHcli  tlie  end  is  gained.  Even  where  influences  seem 
most  adverse,  this  tendency  shows  itself,  though  by  feeble  efforts ;  and 
the  growth  of  art  may  be  obscurely  traced  long  before  it  bursts  into 
sudden  splendor.  In  what  degree  Greece  derived  her  Art  from  the 
early  Eastern  empires  it  is  not  easy  to  guess.  Religion,  especially 
under  idolatrous  forms,  would  naturally  suggest  first  the  structure  of 
imposing  temjiles  and  representative  images.  Djedalus,  if  he  be  not 
a  mythical  fiction,  is  the  earliest  name  in  the  annals  of  Grecian  art, 
and  he  was  a  sculptor,  most  probably  of  wood ;  but,  though  we  read 
of  a  few  others  scattered  along  the  interval,  seven  or  eight  centuries 
must  have  elapsed  between  his  date  and  that  of  Phidias.  Some  de- 
scriptions m  Homer  indicate  the  existence  of  designing  skill,  of  which 
there  remained  no  adequate  specimens  as  indubitable  proof.  The  con- 
venient quarries  of  snowy  Parian  and  sparkling  Pentelican  greatly 
encouraged  the  use  of  marble  in  building  and  statuary.  Still  it  is 
certain  that,  until  after  the  Persian  war,  art  in  Athens  and  all  Greece 
was  in  its  swaddling  clothes ;  but,  through  the  magnificent  foster-care 
of  the  elegant  demagogue  Pericles,  in  less  than  forty  years  Archi- 
tecture reached  perfection.  Sculpture  had  achieved  by  the  hand  of 
Phidias  her  most  sublime  triumphs,  and  Paintmg,  in  the  frescoes  of 
the  Propyloea,  had  exhibited  strong  promise  soon  to  be  fully  devel- 
oped. We  are  astonished  and  instructed  by  the  crowd  of  men  emi- 
nent in  these  several  departments,  who  flourished  in  the  course  of  the 
half  century  of  which  Phidias  was  the  Angelo:  Ictinus,  Calli- 
CBATES,  and  Innesicles,  architects ;  Polycletus,  Mtron,  Alcasienes, 
Atsladas  (the  younger),  Nestocles,  Athenodorus  (the  elder),  and 
Calamis,  sculptors ;  Pan^nus,  Poltgnotus,  Apollodorus,  Parrhasius, 
Zeitxis,  and  Tlmanthes,  painters.  Thirty  years  after.  Sculpture,  wliich 
could  not  advance  in  grandeur  beyond  the  Phidian  Jupitei-,  A\iis  cai'- 
ried  to  its  highest  point  of  spiritual  grace  by  Praxiteles;  and   I'aiiit- 


176  AllT      IN      THE      UNITED      STATES. 

ing,  in  less  tliau  seventy,  attained  its  aucient  acme  uucler  Apelles  and 
Protogenes.  From  this  time  Art,  though  Lirgely  practised  aud  ilhis- 
trated  occasionally  by  works  of  great  merit,  began  to  decline. 

The  re\dval  of  Art  in  Europe  is  remarkable  for  similar  facts.  The 
first  impulse  came,  through  ecclesiastical  associations,  from  the  East, 
and  the  monuments  of  classical  genius  were  overlooked.  BusciiErro, 
(or  BuscHETTUs)  a  Greek,  built  in  the  eleventh  century  the  Cathedi-al 
of  Pisa ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth,  that  we 
find  the  Sculptors  Giovanni  aud  Nicolo  Pisani  spreading  their  really 
beautiful  works  through  Italy.  Donatello  and  Ghibeeti,  about  the 
close  of  the  fourteenth,  left  behind  them  achievements  which  have 
received  admiration  from  all  subsequent  ages.  Cimabue,  in  the  latter 
half  of  the  thirteenth  century,  began  the  emancipation  of  Painting 
from  depraved  Byzantine  taste ;  and  his  superior  scholar  Giotto  pur- 
sued the  good  work  Avith  admirable  courage.  Brunelleschi  (the 
architect)  introduced  clearer  notions  of  persj^ective  ;  and  jNIasaccio, 
making  nature  his  guide,  and  discarding  still  more  the  restrictions 
which  had  hindei'ed  freedom  and  breadth,  excelled  in  the  spii'it  of  his 
attitudes  and  the  harmony  of  his  colors.  Thus,  by  slow  and  arduous 
steps,  did  Art  ascend  from  its  living  tomb  during  more  than  two  cen- 
turies until  Peeugino;  but  immediately  after  it  shone  forth  with  a 
lustre  which  has  never  since  been  equalled  and  can  never  be  surpassed. 
About  this  time,  under  the  admirable  politics  of  Lorenzo  the  Mag- 
nificent, the  balance  of  power  in  Italy,  which  had  been  so  long  dis- 
turbed by  cruel  and  confused  wars,  became  settled ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was  a  general  prosperity.  Lorenzo  employed  large  wealth 
during  the  long  peace  in  the  encom-agement  of  learning  aud  art.  lie 
collected  many  antique  statues  and  the  best  pictures  then  to  be  found, 
within  a  ])alace,  which  he  opened  as  an  academy.  The  power  of  his 
li])ei'al  exam])le,  coextensive  with  that  of  liis  statesmanship,  was  felt 


AKT       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  1^7 

at  Milan,  then  under  tlie  Sforzas ;  at  Venice,  then  in  its  palmy  day ;  at 
Rome,  then  richest  and  proudest,  and  even  at  unhappy  Naples.  This 
affluent  calm  ushered  in  the  great  period  of  Italian  Art,  which  began 
with  Da  Vinci  and  closed  with  Rafaelle.  Within  less  than  fifty 
years,  between  14'70  and  1520,  flourished  Da  Vinci,  Angelo,  Raf- 
aelle, Titian,  Coereggio,  Del  Sarto,  and  Giorgione  ;  and,  a  few  years 
later,  Giulio  Romano,  Tintoretto,  Parmeggiano,  and  Pol.  Caeavag- 
Gio.  From  this  time,  Italy  being  again  con\Tilsed,  with  the  brilliant  ex- 
ception of  Baroccto,  Art  continued  to  decline,  until  in  another  long 
peace,  during  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  discover  a 
second  constellation  only  inferior  to  the  first ;  Paolo  Veronese,  the 
Caracci,  Guido,  Dojienichino,  and  Michael  Angelo  Caeavaggio.  The 
only  names  of  later  date  worthy  to  be  given  with  those  above,  are 
Salvator  Rosa  and  Carlo  Dolce,  who  were  cotemporaneous  about 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

France  hardly  aftbrds  us  an  example  in  point.  Her  Art  was  im- 
mediately derived  from  Italy,  and  her  best  artists  flourished  there. 
We  may  observe,  however,  that  the  prosperous  administration  of 
Sully  seems  fii'st  to  have  given  the  energy  which  produced  her  best 
masters,  and  that  in  the  forty  years  between  1582  and  1622,  were 
born  Vixet,  the  Poussins,  Claude  Lorraine,  Blanchard.  the  Mk;- 
NARDS,  De  Brun,  Sarapin,  aiid  PUGET. 

Antwerp,  until  the  destruction  of  its  harbor,  the  chief  seat  of 
commerce  in  the  Low  Countries,  had  attained  the  culminating  point 
of  its  fortunes  after  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  its 
citizens  were  proud  of  their  wealth.  As  a  consequence.  Art,  which, 
in  Flanders,  had  been  struggling  upward  from  Van  Eyck  (who 
flom'ished  about  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century),  Breug- 
hel, and  Van  Ort  (born  155'?),  was  elevated  to  a  glorious 
height  by  the  simultaneous  excellences  of  Rubens,  Van  Dyke,  Sny- 
23 


178  ai:t     in     the     united     states. 

DEES,  Teniers,  and  Jordaexs,  all  of  wliom  were  born  Ijetween  1576 
and  1600. 

The  United  Provinces,  before  1610,  had  shown  themselves  strong 
enough  to  maintain  their  freedom  from  the  yoke  of  Spain,  and  estab- 
lished their  admirable  government.  A  similar  triumph  of  Art  fol- 
lowed ;  and,  accordingly,  a  multitude  of  artists  appeared  in  Holland. 
HoNTHOEST  (Gherardo  delle  NoiTi),  CuYP,  Eejibrandt,  Gerard 
Douw,  Both,  the  elder  Van  der  Welde,  Van  Ostade,  Wouverjians, 
Paul  Potter,  Backhutsen,  Jan  Steex,  Ruysdael,  Van  der  ^^^elde 
the  son,  were  all  born  between  1592  and  1636. 

William  of  Orange  ascended  the  throne  of  Great  Britain  in 
1689.  The  ecclesiastical  buildings  of  that  island  contain  eiddences  of 
Art  at  an  early  period,  and  further  down  we  read  of  Hilliard, 
Oliver,  Jajieson,  Cooper,  Wtatt,  Grinling  Gibbons,  and  others ; 
but  they  are  obscure,  and  seldom  spoken  of  compared  to  those  of  the 
foreigners,  Holbein,  Van  Dyke,  Lely,  Kneller,  and  the  two  Van  der 
Veldes,  who  were  liberally  rewarded  by  royal  and  uoljle  patrons.  The 
establishment  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  after  the  expulsion  of  the 
Stuarts,  was  followed  by  a  general  and  increasing  prosperity.  During 
the  reign  of  George  P.  and  H.  the  power  and  wealth  of  Britain  made 
large  progress ;  and  at  the  accession  of  George  HI.  she  had  reached 
her  pre-eminence  in  Europe.  We  are  not,  thei'efore,  disappointed 
when  we  look  for  a  coirespondently  flourishing  condition  of  Art. 
Hogarth,  born  in  1698,  was  at  the  height  of  his  fame  in  1735,  and 
continued  to  flourish  until  his  death  in  1762.  Within  the  time  of 
Hogarth,  and  in  the  half  century  between  1713  and  176-4,  were  born 
Stuart,  Wilson,  Reynolds,  Gainsborough,  Barrett,  Romney,  Run- 
ciMAN,  Nollekens,  Banks,  Bacon,  Cosway,  Barry,  Wyait,  North- 
cote,  Flaxman,  Blake,  Opie,  and  Morland.  West  and  Copley  also 
were  born  in  America,  1737-8,  the  former  settling  in  England,  1763; 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  179 

the  latter,  1775.  This  list,  it  -nail  be  perceived,  comprises  men  emi- 
nent in  every  department.  Under  the  lil)eral  encouragement  of 
Geokge  III.  the  Royal  Academy  was  established  in  1766,  of  which 
the  first  president  was  Reynolds,  and  the  second  our  countryman 
West.  Of  Art  in  Great  Britain  sul«eqnently,  there  is  no  need  that 
we  should  speak. 

These  memoranda  show  that  we  have  great  reason  for  encourage- 
ment with  regard  to  the  progress  of  Art  in  this  country.  It  has  begun 
to  flourish  as  early  in  the  history  of  our  nation  as  circumstances,  ac- 
cording to  all  precedent,  would  allow.  Nor  should  we  think  that  its 
farther  development  must  necessarily  be  slow.  It  is  the  characteristic 
of  Art,  when  fairly  awakened,  to  make  progress  by  large  strides ;  and 
we  may  well  feel  the  shame  of  disappointment  if  this  should  not  be 
the  case  ia  the  United  States.  We  are  as  a  people  successftd  in  all 
the  pursuits  of  industry,  and  as  a  nation  secure  in  the  justness  and 
stabihty  of  our  government.  The  day  has  therefore  come,  when, 
with  no  neglect  of  matters  \dtal  to  our  general  safety,  we  should  culti- 
vate liberally  those  refined  tastes  which  will  add  grace  to  our  strength, 
and  vindicate  our  national  character  from  the  imputation  of  an  undue 
lust  of  gain.  The  new  rich  are  ordinarily  fond  of  display  in  costly 
appliances  of  luxurious  life.  They  delight  in  a  vulgar  ostentation  of 
mere  expense  before  the  eyes  of  the  less  fortunate,  or  in  rivaUmg  the 
tinsel  splendor  of  each  other.  Intoxicated  with  sudden  wealth,  they 
are  eager  to  lavish  it,  yet  know  not  how  to  do  so  elegantly  or  credita- 
bly. This  childish  folly  is  rife  among  us.  Many  (comparatively) 
large  fortunes  are  now  in  the  hands  of  successful  adventurers,  Avho 
lack  the  education  which  teackes  the  better  value  of  money.  Hence 
we  see  on  every  hand  a  straining  after  efifect  disproportionate  to  the 
scale  of  things.  Houses,  not  beyond  the  size  of  comfortable  mansions, 
receive  an  architectural  decoration  suitable  only  to  large  palaces ;  and 


180  ART      IN      THE      UNITED      STATES. 

the  two  or  three  narrow  rooms  on  the  prinoii^al  floor  are  so  crowded 
with  glaring  furniture  as  to  drive  the  family,  when  not  ou  exhibition, 
down  into  the  obscure  Ijut  more  home-like  basement.  Festivals  are 
given  with  an  extravagant  ambition,  which  can  only  be  cariied  out  by 
the  aid  of  hired  services  and  supernumerary  servants.  Eobes,  fit  only 
for  the  evening  drawing-room,  sweep  the  dust  of  the  pavement.  Men, 
after  having  drudged  all  the  day  in  office  or  counting-house,  spend 
the  night  in  aping  the  fashions  of  idle  aristocrats,  to  begin  again  their 
necessary  toil  unrestored  by  sleep,  while  their  wives  and  families  live 
only  to  scatter  what  they  have  gathered  with  anxious  industry.  It  is 
not  surprising  that  pictures,  or  other  works  of  Art,  should  be  rare  in 
their  houses.  They  have  no  leisure  even  to  read,  much  less  to  culti- 
vate taste ;  their  talk  is  of  money,  and  they  flatter  then*  pride  of  purse 
Tjy  contemning  all  who,  absorbed  in  liberal  pursuits,  have  filled  their 
heads  rather  than  their  pockets.  The  evil  will  not  long  be  so  ram- 
pant. It  must  grow  less  as  the  possession  of  riches  ceases  to  he  a 
novelty;  and,  especially,  when  the  next  generation,  educated  from 
infancy,  perhaps  enlightened  by  foreign  travel  in  countries  where  let- 
ters and  art  are  regarded  as  glory,  comes  upon  the  stage,  a  better  sen- 
timent will  prevail,  and  money  be  devoted  to  more  honorable  ends. 
Even  now  we  are  not  without  pleasing  exceptions  to  the  general  lault. 
There  are  those,  who,  uncorru2:)ted  by  the  habits  and  successes  of  busi- 
ness, delight  to  relieve  its  fatigues,  not  by  animal  indulgences,  but 
spiritual  enjoyments;  with  whom  the  scholar,  the  man  of  science,  and 
the  artist,  are  honored  guests ;  from  whose  apartments  l)ooks  are  not 
excluded  as  unfashionable  lumber,  and  on  whose  walls  a  picture  is  not 
thought  to  be  a  deformity.  These  are  the  men  who  have  encouraged 
the  artist's  zeal,  and  to  whom,  next  to  the  artist  and  scarcely  less,  we 
owe  a  large  inijji'ovcmeiit  of  tlie  publif  feeling  for  Art  and  its  already 
gratifying  acliievciiiciits.     'I'lic   Art  of   clas.sicMl    .•iiiti(|iiitv   arose   in   a 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  181 

democracy;  to  the  mereliaut  Medici  it  owed  its  revival  in  modern 
times ;  in  the  commercial  states  of  the  Netherlands  appeared  the  only 
original  school  out  of  Italy ;  and  why  should  not  Art  flourish  in  our 
rei^uljlic,  where  the  lounging  idler  is  a  nuisance,  and  skilful  occupation 
a  title  to  respect  ? 

In  the  history  of  Art  we  are  glad  to  see  refuted  a  common  preju- 
dice that  it  demands  peculiar  conditions  of  climate,  atmosphere,  and 
natural  scenery ;  or  that  it  is  the  endowment  of  any  particular  people ; 
or  that  it  flourishes  better  under  superstition  than  truth.  It  first  ap- 
peared in  the  far,  sultry  East,  where  at  this  late  day  are  now  exhumed 
its  stupendous  remains.  It  shone  forth  under  the  clear  skies  of  Greece 
long  centuries  after  its  oblivion  in  Asia.  When  Art  was  splendid  in 
Athens  and  Rhodes,  and  Cos  and  Corinth,  it  had  no  native  growth  in 
Italy.  The  pictures  and  the  statues  with  which  Rome  was  crowded, 
were  the  work  of  Grecian  hands.  Pliny  has  barely  rescued  from  for- 
getfulness  the  names  of  two  or  three  countrymen  of  his,  who  imitated 
the  Grecian  school,  but  they  scarcely  deserved  the  record.  Again, 
when  Art  had  been  irreparably  lost  to  Greece  for  well  nigh  a  thousand 
years,  Italy  became  the  theatre  of  its  highest  glory,  and  claimed  the 
prerogative  of  teaching  the  world.  Even  there  was  there  a  distinc- 
tion. If  study  of  antique  forms  in  the  clear,  dry  atmosphere  of  Rome, 
gave  to  her  school  its  unequalled  perception  of  form,  the  moistened 
air  of  Venice  enabled  her  artists  to  study  the  coloring  of  nature,* 

*  About  the  year  1824  tlie  writer  had  the  pleasure  of  a  convei-sation  with  Gilbert 
Stuart,  and  asked  him  why  it  was  that  the  Venetian  school  so  fai-  excelled  the  Roman  in 
coloiing.  He  made  no  reply,  but  for  a  few  moments  carelessly  bmmshed  with  his  handker- 
chief a  plain  gold  ring  on  his  finger — when  turning  it  to  the  sunlight  he  sharjJy  said  :  "  Can 
you  see  color  in  that  ling,  sir  ?"  "  Veiy  indistinctly."  He  then  breathed  upon  it,  and  show- 
ing it  again,  asked  :  "Do  you  see  color  now,  sh?"  A  hajjpy  illustration,  characteristic  of  flic 
eminent  artist. 


182  ART      IN      THE      UNITED      STATES. 

wliile  those  of  Lomltai-dy,  holdiug  a  middle  place,  united  grace  and 
beauty.  Almost  alone  in  ^i^am  we  see  tlie  star-like  lustre  of  tlie  ex- 
quisite MuRiLLO.  Then,  leaping,  as  it  were,  over  the  space  between, 
Art  found  another  home  among  the  fogs  and  marshes  of  the  Low 
Coimtries,  where  she  exhibited  herself  in  new  and  striking  combma- 
tious.  Thence  the  transition  to  our  ancestral  Britain  was  easy ;  and 
now,  go  where  we  will  in  the  civihzed  world,  we  find  the  living  artist. 
Germany,  notwithstanding  the  early  inspiration  of  Albert  Durek,  is 
onlj^  of  late  succeeding  in  the  establishment  of  a  school  of  her  own. 
Rauch  of  Berlin,  and  Schwanthaler  of  Munich,  have  won  most 
enviable  fame  in  the  grandest  styles  of  sculpture ;  nor  should  it  be 
forgotten,  that  the  greatest  sculptor  of  the  age,  the  greatest  since 
Angelo,  the  Scandiua\'iau  Thorwaldsen,  emerged  from  the  Ultima 
77t  ide  of  the  ancients.  In  our  land  we  have  every  variety  of  climate 
and  atmosj^here,  with  a  commingling  of  all  the  cultivated  races ; 
genius  for  each  department  of  skill  has  appeared  among  us.  Is  it  then 
presumption  to  hope  that,  as  empire  marches  westward.  Art  may  here 
attain  the  lustre  reserved  for  her  destined  acquisition  of  universal 
sway  ? 

Too  much  stress  has  been  laid  upon  the  encouragement  of  Art  by 
the  classical  mythology  of  the  ancient  world,  and  the  legendary  tra- 
ditions, that  cling  like  parasitic  masses  about  a  better  creed.  These 
may  be  favorable,  but  are  not  necessary  to  Art.  The  ideal  of  power, 
beauty,  heroic  endurance,  or  moral  emotion,  is  the  creature  of  the 
artist's  soul.  He  embodies  it  in  form,  and  but  calls  that  form  by  a 
popular  name.  The  anthropinal  character  of  their  gods  enabled  the 
ancients  to  apjiroach  more  nearly  their  idea  of  divinity ;  but  no  genius 
has  adequately  translated  into  human  shape  the  God  of  our  faith, 
"whom  no  man  hath  seen  or  can  see."  Ov'er])owered  as  we  are  by 
other  conceptions  of  Angelo,  we  are  disajipointed,  if  not  pained,  l)y 


ART       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES.  183 

his  figures  of  tlie  Almiglity ;  aud  our  liope  is  unsatisfied  wlieu  we  look 
upon  the  canvas  of  Carlo  Dolce,  or  even  Rafaelle,  for  tlie  Divinity 
whom  we  adore  in  the  Man  Christ  Jesus.  The  Jupiter  of  the  Elian 
Olympia  appears  again,  though  with  more  noble  attributes,  in  the 
Jehovah  of  the  Cistine ;  aud  the  precipitation  of  the  wicked  in  the 
tremendous  Last  Judgment  might,  with  a  proper  change  of  the  acces- 
sories, present  to  the  mind  of  a  pagan  Greek  an  overthrow  of  con- 
spii'ing  Titans.  An  adequate  personification  of  Wisdom  could  not  fail 
of  Ijeiug  a  reminiscence  of  Minerva,  though  without  helmet  or  aegis. 
Benjajiin  West  saw  the  symmetrical  strength  and  graceful  energy  of 
a  young  Mohawk  warrior  in  the  Pythian  Archer  of  the  Vatican. 
Were  the  Satan  of  Milton  wrought  in  marble,  there  would  be  on  his 
thunder-scarred  brow  the  defiant  despair  of  Prometheus  bound.  Venus, 
who  once  in  Cyprus  struggled  with  Adonis,  has  given  her  cestus  to 
the  wife  of  Potiphar,  scorned,  nevertheless,  like  herself;  or,  converted 
from  her  sins,  weeps  with  Magdalen  in  the  desert,  who,  the  painters 
seem  unanimously  to  think,  never  regained  her  modesty  with  her 
penitence.  In  the  martyr,  we  discover  constancy  under  suftering, 
sweetened  by  forgi\-ing  patience  and  sublimated  by  celestial  hope. 
The  virtues  and  the  vices,  the  appetites  and  the  passions  of  human 
natm-e,  are  peculiar  to  no  age.  As  Art  is  spiritualized,  it  becomes 
independent  of  mere  outer  accidents ;  the  true  type,  however  exoteri- 
cally  given,  is  ever  the  same,  and  the  true  artist  will  ever  find  it  in  his 
soul,  though  to  esj^i'ess  it,  he  may  use  j;)revailiug  associations,  as  the 
philosopher  teaches  in  the  tongue  of  his  disciples.  A  like  strain  of 
remark  is  apj^licable  to  drapery,  for  it  is  ever  a  jioor  artifice  because 
uuti'uthful  (which  should  be  synonymous  with  unartistic)  to  clothe  an 
individual  of  one  period  in  the  fashion  of  another.  Washington  in  a 
toga  is  an  afl:rout  to  our  common  sense ;  and  he  who  cannot  give  us 
the  foremost  man  of  modern  times  in  his  own  "-arb,  should  confess  a 


184  AKT       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES. 

genius  uuequal  to  the  jjortraitm-e.  An  artist  is  uot  obliged  to  copy  all 
the  fautastic  caprices  of  fashion,  l)ut  his  invention  is  very  weak  if,  like 
a  country  tailor,  he  can  work  only  after  obsolete  patterns.  lie  has 
the  I'ight  of  contrivance  in  costume,  but  imagiaation  must  be  ruled  by 
propriety.  So  many  are  the  beauties  of  Kafaelle,  that  we  are  apt  to 
overlook  the  drapery  of  his  figures,  not  its  color  or  apphcatiou  to  the 
form,  but  its  naturalness,  yet  it  greatly  assists  the  pure  harmony 
which  is  the  superlative  charm  of  his  works ;  while  Guido,  charming 
as  he  is,  and  easy  in  the  disjjosition  of  the  drapery  he  chooses,  has 
decorated  his  archangel  like  a  celestial  Alcibiades.  Our  own  Hun- 
tington, who  has  more  of  Rafaelle's  elevated  serenity  than  any 
other  recent  artist,  shows,  especially  in  his  allegorical  pictures,  how 
superior  a  true  artist  is  to  pedantic  affectation,  when  dressing  his 
characters. 

No  artists  of  modern  tunes  have  had  such  opportunities  for  origi- 
nality, or  such  untrodden  walks  opened  before  them,  as  ours ;  and  it 
should  be  their  honoi'able  aim,  so  far  as  is  consistent  ^^■ith  the  peculiar 
tendency  of  their  genius,  to  illustrate  the  country  of  their  birth. 
PoLYGNOTUs,  after  he  had  depicted  on  the  walls  of  the  Pcecilo  the 
victories  of  his  compatriots,  lived  by  a  vote  of  the  Amphictyonic  Comi- 
cil  as  the  guest  of  all  Greece ;  and  an  American,  who  should  success- 
fully follow  his  example,  would  not  remain  unhonored.  Every  petty 
town  of  Europe  has  in  its  public  walks  statues  of  those  who  have  been 
feared  or  loved.  How  few  are  the  memorials  of  our  mighty  dead ! 
It  is  vain  to  say  that  they  live  in  our  hearts,  when  we  are  too 
niggard  to  prove  by  outward  sign  the  sentiment  we  profess.  Sad 
would  it  be,  if  there  were  preserved  no  likeness  of  our  country's 
Father,  and  we  could  uot  gaze  with  filial  veneration  ujton  that  t-ahn 
majesty  of  countenance  and  form  which  is  the  visible  presentment  of 
his  grave  and  good  soul !     Yet  how  many  who  have  contrilnited  to 


ART     IN     THE     unitp:d     states.  185 

our  glorious  liistoiy,  have  been  permitted  to  die,  tlieir  liueaments  for- 
gotten before  they  have  ci'umbled  to  dust !  Had  they  beeu  as  faith- 
ful servants  of  a  despotism,  they  would  have  stood  in  marble  and 
bronze  upon  proudly  inscribed  pedestals.  Should  freemen  be  less 
grateful  than  tyrants  ?  It  is  by  such  uses  that  the  moral  power  of  Art 
is  best  exerted  on  the  popular  mind ;  and  we  can  well  pardon  the 
awkward  multitude  of  legs  in  Trumbull's  picture,  when  we  know  that 
it  has  carried  to  every  dwelling  of  our  people  a  perpetuation  of  the 
sublime  assembly,  which  declared  our  national  indej)eudence. 

What  inexhaustible  studies  are  afforded  l)y  the  aborigines  of 
Northern  America,  now  passing  away  with  noiseless  tread  that  leaves 
no  trail,  which  the  plough  will  not  soon  obliterate  !  They  had  no 
art,  and  a  more  than  Cimmerian  dai'kness  hides  their  story  before  the 
white  man  came ;  its  fatal  catastrophe  cannot  long  be  delayed,  yet  let 
them  not  be  as  though  they  had  never  been !  We  owe  this  duty  to 
them  and  to  the  inquirers  of  future  centuries.  Their  physical  peculi- 
arities, their  costume,  their  habits  at  rest,  in  war,  or  in  the  chase ; 
their  moral  characteristics,  and  not  a  few  scenes  of  their  contest  with 
civilization,  supply  to  both  chisel  and  pencil  subjects  at  once  novel 
and  various  for  every  style  of  delineation.  We  are  proud  of  our 
sculptors,  who  can  achieve  no  mean  distinction  in  the  walk  beaten  by 
so  many  mighty  predecessors^of  Greenough,  now  by  no  means  duly 
appreciated ;  of  Powers  (would  that  the  chain  were  shivered  from  the 
beautiful  limbs  of  his  slave  !  it  is  a  paltry  method  of  helping  out 
the  story,  most  unworthy  of  his  genius) ;  and  of  Crawford,  whose 
Orpheus  is  like  a  dream  of  classic  poetry ;  but  we  must  congratulate 
Brow^n  upon  his  having  received  an  inspii-ation  truly  American,  when 
he  chose  the  Indian  for  the  model  of  some  recent  works.  He  has 
entered  an  untried  and  vast  field,  which  his  severe  education  in  the 
antique  well  fits  him  to  explore ;  and  it  is  earnestly  to  be  hoped  that 
•24 


liS()  AllT       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES. 

no  withholding  of  proper  sympathy  may  compel  his  aljandoument  of 
the  best  chance  for  high  and  permanent  distinction  he  could  expect 
or  desire. 

When  we  consider  the  distinctive  scenery  of  our  country,  the 
undulating  outline  of  our  mountains,  the  majestic  flow  of  om* 
rivers,  the  thundering  cataract  and  the  innumerable  cascades,  the 
placid  lakes  embosomed  among  the  hills,  and  their  multitudinous 
islands,  the  contrasts  of  nature  in  her  wildest  grace  and  most  rugged 
grandeur  with  the  tranquil  charms  of  progressive  cultivation,  and  the 
gorgeous  magnificence  of  our  autumnal  forests,  the  paradise  of  coloi-, 
we  are  not  surprised  that  Landscape  painting  should  have  many  and 
enthusiastic  votaries.  Here  also  there  is  large  scope,  and,  indeed, 
a  necessity  for  originality.  The  fundamental  canons  of  Art  must  re- 
main the  same,  but  the  painter  of  American  scenery  will  find  himself 
wanting,  however  he  may  study  foreign  artists,  unless  he  closely  and 
faithfully  observe  nature  as  it  is  disjilayed  here.  Our  skies,  our  atmos- 
phei'e,  the  shapes  of  our  trees  and  the  hiies  of  their  foliage,  our  very 
rocks  are  so  peculiar,  that  to  an  eye  which  has  never  looked  upon  the 
reality,  a  representation  of  them  may  seem  false,  or  at  least  exagger- 
ated. The  accomplished  critic,  Mrs.  Jajiieson,  has  said,  that  when  she 
first  saw  a  Claude  in  England,  she  thought,  "  How  beautiful !"  but 
when  she  saw  the  eftects  of  that  magic  pencil  in  Italy,  she  exclaimed, 
"  How  like  !"  The  same  thing  might  occur  witli  a  true  picture  of  an 
American  landscape.  Here  are  many  vai'ious  eftects  not  met  with 
elsewhere,  and  as  delightful  as  they  ai'c  peculiar.  For  these  and  other 
obvious  reasons,  next  to  the  painter  of  })ortraits  who  ministers  to  tlie 
jiroudest  affections  of  our  hearts,  the  painter  of  landscapes  has  met 
with  most  general  favor ;  and  a  volume  like  this  in  the  reader's  hand, 
must  be  a  most  welcome  contribution  to  the  puljlic  taste.  We  have 
not  a  few  artists  in  tliis  line  who  deserve  mention,  and  some  liiii'h 


ART   IN   THE   FNITED   STATES.  187 

praise,  if  au  award  of  merit  was  tlie  presumptuous  purpose  of  tliis 
essay ;  but  no  one  will  forbid  a  grateful  tribute  to  the  memory  of  liim, 
who  has  been  to  America  what  Giorgione  was  to  Italy,  Rutsdael  to 
Holland,  and  Gainsborough  to  England,  Thomas  Cole,  the  head  of  the 
American  school  of  Landscape  painting.  The  works  which  he  has  left 
behind  him  are  his  best  eulogy.  He  revelled  amidst  the  splendors  of  the 
frost-touched  woods  almost  to  intoxication.  As  we  look  upon  the  scenes 
he  represents  we  are  oftentimes  oppressed  by  the  dazzling  richness  of 
the  hues,  while  we  confess  the  fidelity  of  the  painter,  and  thank  liim 
for  his  tribute  to  the  surpassing  beauties,  which  the  hand  of  nature 
has  scattered  so  lavishly  and  on  so  grand  a  scale  over  the  mountains 
and  valleys  of  our  native  land.  Even  after  such  enjoyment,  it  is  most 
pleasing,  if  we  may  turn  to  a  picture  of  the  ever-faithful  and  ever- 
judicious  DuRAND,  who  never  apj^lies  his  pencil  without  impressing 
ujion  the  canvas  pure  and  delicious  traces  of  a  calm,  chastened  spirit ; 
or  to  the  charming  summer  fields  of  Doughty,  as  they  swim  in  silvery 
brightness  before  our  fortunate  eyes.  These  gentlemen  our  younger 
artists  have  done  well  to  emulate,  and  some  have  studied  well ;  while 
they  show,  not  by  servile  imitation,  but  by  following  ever  their  own 
pecuhar  tendencies  under  the  teaching  of  happy  example.  Among 
those,  who  are  now  daily  presenting  us  with  creditable  landscapes,  it 
is  perhaps  invidious  to  make  particular  mention  of  any ;  yet  it  would 
be  unjust  not  to  name  Church  and  Kenseti',  both  of  whom  are  rapidly 
gaining  a  high  degree  of  acknowledged  distinction,  which  must  yield 
them  a  most  satisfactory  return  for  their  well-directed  enthusiasm. 

Early  youth  is  naturally  imitative,  and,  for  that  reason,  timid. 
Our  Art  has  not  passed  the  period  of  its  youth,  nor  acquii-ed  suf- 
ficient boldness  and  self-reliance.  With  more  maturity  we  may  ex- 
pect more  originality.  It  were  strange  indeed  if,  with  so  many  new 
lessons  from  Nature,  the  great  teacher,  our  artists  should  content 
themselves  with  doing  oidy  what  has  been  done  befoi-e. 


1!SS  AUT       IN       THE       UNITED       STATES. 

The  Mstory  of  American  Art  will  one  day  be  a  matter  of  curious 
interest.  Specimens  of  some,  especially  among  our  earlier  ai-tists,  are 
already  becoming  rare.  A  ^^ermanent  collection  of  pieces,  from  each 
band,  would  be  very  instructive,  and  a  bappy  monument.  It  could 
now  be  made  without  great  difficulty,  and  continued  easily.  Tbe  cost 
would  not  be  very  great,  and  its  exhibition  might  defray,  at  least,  the 
current  expenses.  An  Historical  Gallery  of  National  Art !  The  sug- 
gestion is  not  undeserving  of  thought. 


-7^    '>-# 
'^^ 


HI 


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